Other Side of the World
by Saddletank
Summary: This will probably [smiley] be my last WOTH work. Starting in spring 1996 and ending in 2007, so something of an epic saga. Some limey flavours but mostly romance, adventure and a tragedy or two. Now complete, as am I.
1. Introduction

**Introduction**

Hi, thanks for dropping by. It's good to see you. Have we met before? Anyway, please make yourself at home. Grab yourself a drink and have a seat.

This story is possibly the last thing I will write about Shizuku and Seiji, once it's done we will be in 2007 in their universe and their story will all be told. I may explore some side stories off this one when I'm done, but not sure. See how I feel. Or I may do a fanfic based on another Ghibli, Laputa seems interesting.

This story begins in the spring of 1996 after _The End of Summer_ which ended in autumn 1995. Shizuku and Seiji are now sixteen and growing up – not just in their relationship but in their heads as well – early on in this story Shizuku will stop thinking like a child and start thinking like an adult and begin to behave like one. Soon her school-focused life will end and adult issues will become paramount. The story describes their lives, some days and events are ordinary, some are very very odd, but we'll end in 2007.

I have a plan in place which will take us all the way to the end. It's hazy at many points but then that's the good thing with plans, you can bend them and twist them so that unusual things happen that you hadn't expected. It's filling in the blank bits of the plan that is the fun part.

Oh, and one last thing before I go. I have set up a forum. You can discuss The Attic Room and The End of Summer there too if you like. If you feel a burning need to tell me my work is complete pants then please do it there. I'd like to use the forum for feedback etc so that any discussion is public rather than in the form of replies to reviews which I hate because I lose them. I'll probably use the forum as a species of blog where I'll discuss what is happening / may happen in the story; why I wrote things the way I did; and the price of fish. In case you are having trouble finding it, click on my pen name.

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Usual disclaimer:

What follows is a work of fiction; it has no connection whatever with Studio Ghibli, Hayao Miyazaka, Yoshifumi Kondo or any films or other works produced by that company or those persons. I have borrowed very heavily from the film _Whisper of the Heart_ characters, locations and concepts. This is purely fan fiction and I do not claim ownership of the above-named work.

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UPDATE 11 JANUARY 2007  
I want to just drop in a note here about the characters and how they are growing. Yes, that's the right word. In _End of Summer_ I lived with these two kids for only a year, in _Attic Room_ I was with them for just a day. In this story I've been priviliged to be with them for year after year and I am amazed at the changes they are going through, how they grow and mature and how they behave differently in different situations. The language they use is the main thing but also their atttitudes to events and pressures around them obviously changes as they become adults. Their thinking is also changing and its been huge fun to be able to observe this and create it. They are also, of course, maturing with respect to each other - how they behave in 'slack moments' when they are just relaxing with each other, or in moments of friction or passion or - best of all - humour is really rewarding to see. I have written a couple of jokey chapters and found these immensely rewarding to write, I should do more.

One or two people have mentioned that they are OOC. I haven't quite got the impulsiveness of Seiji right, that unexpected spark he demonstrates in the movie, but as far as being OOC goes I disagree with the people who say that. You see the people we see in the movie are 14 years old. Children. Pretty innocent, shy, gawky, clumsy, unsure, just finding their way. In _End of Summer_ they were 15 and yes, I limited their interactions (particularly with strangers) in that story to how I thought 15 year olds would behave. But now, in this story, they are growing up. By Chapter 18 they are 19 years old. Forget about the shy, demure, uncertain Shizuku you saw in the movie. That girl is gone now and a different woman is in her place. Seiji goes through the emotional wringer pretty severely in this story - he discovered a lot about himself that was unpleasant in the closing chapters of _End of Summer_, but that's nothing to his journey in _Other Side_, particularly _Chapter 9 - Summer of 96 Part 4_. Despite having written some interesting chapters since then, the final part of that chapter is still my favourite in the story. I love the boy who comes out at the end of that chapter, he's such a powerful new person. So the Seiji we have here after that chapter isn't the kid we saw in the movie either. Please trust me on this.

UPDATE 10 JANUARY 2007  
I have now written up to chapter 25 on my laptop and we are at about 63,000 words now. I think I am over half way, so we could be looking at a maximum of 50 chapters and 120,000 words. But of course, you know me by now, I think, and the story tends to unwind in front of me as I go. So no telling really. Hmm.

UPDATE 31 DECEMBER 2006  
It is the wee hours of New Years Eve here in the English Midlands. The family have gone to bed (we had a party today which ended with another stupid argument with my wife), the house is quiet in the night and I am again alone. The urge to write is once again upon me so I'm fiddling away at chapter 18 now (yes, I've got that far in a dozen days) so while I battle with the keyboard and a wonky mind that won't write what I want to write I've decided to start uploading chapters again. Number five has gone up tonight, and it contains my attempts at humour. Have a read, please, and let me know what you think.

UPDATE 22 DECEMBER 2006  
I have completed up to Chapter 8 now and Chapter 10 and am wrestling with Chapter 9. This finishes the 1996 Cremona trip and covers 1997 / part of 1998. I'm looking forward a couple of chapters and I think it will be a beautiful wedding :) Not sure how much will get written over Christmas but I should get back into things in the New Year by when _The End of Summer (Novel)_ will be finished uploading and I'll restart uploading this. I have trimmed down this introduction and taken out all the chapter end notes and moved them to my forum so that those who aren't interested can now avoid them.

UPDATE 18 DECEMBER 2006  
I have decided for the time being not to upload further chapters of this story. I'm still writing them, and chapters five and six are finished with chapter seven going through the sausage machine of my head right now. The thing is that many chapters of _The Other Side of the World_ refer to events in _The End of Summer (Novel version)._ The problem being that I haven't finished uploading the EoS Novel yet so here I am referring to events in the past as though the reader knows of them when he/she doesn't. These events are NOT in EoS (Script/Screenplay version), the two books diverge a significant amount towards the end. _The Other Side of the World_ has received very few hits so far and this might be one reason. What I will do then is continue to upload _The End of Summer (Novel)_ at the rate of a chapter a day and when it's done I will resume uploading chapters to this story. By then (should be about the end of December) I will have had a chance to write more of _Other Side_ and been able to perhaps smooth out some of the early chapters so that the whole thing fits together better. So, have a great Christmas and see you in the new year!


	2. Ch 1 The Orange That Got Away

**-**

**for Trish**

**-**

**-oOo-**

**-**

**love isn't shown all the time, every day, but it is there  
****and I thank you for being here  
****so that I have someone to give it to**

**-**

**-oOo-**

**-**

**Chapter One – The Orange That Got Away**

His hand was warm and as she held it she felt at peace. But she wasn't able to hold his hand all the time, in fact much of the time in recent weeks she had not been able to hold it at all. School was intruding, as it always seemed to do, but recently more so than usual. The constant studying for tests and examinations, was wearing her down, was wearing them all down. For some of them it was worse – some of them had after school cram tutoring. She could see how bad it was in their faces. In junior high school she had enjoyed such good times with her friends, they seemed to have time to meet after school or at weekends and go shopping or watch a movie or take the bus out into the hills and have junk food picnics. They'd just spend time in each other's company doing almost nothing – laughing, talking about boys, talking about pop music, things that just didn't really matter, and because they could talk about such incidental things it made these times together so precious. But as high school went on she noticed more and more that she saw them less and less. And when they did find a precious evening or Sunday afternoon to meet she saw the change in them. Sixteen now, some of them seventeen already, they were going through the hardest times of school. The education system was crushing them, wearing them all down, squeezing the initiative and imagination out of them, changing them from laughing carefree children into responsible, career-focused adults.

One day she met Nao and was shocked by what she saw. The happy chatty girl with glasses she remembered from those fun lunchtimes spent in Kousaka-Sensei's office was gone, replaced by a fashion conscious contact-lens wearing zombie who seemed bent on climbing the ladder of a banking career at all costs. They had met in a juice bar near the Suginomiya station. They'd only talked for an hour or two but well before they parted, Shizuku realized she no longer had anything in common with this stranger. She'd sat and watched the girl at the counter making drinks. In a glass drum against the wall oranges were piled, all different; different sizes, slightly different colours, different skin textures, different hardnesses. All oranges yes, but each an individual. The girl would take an order for juice and pull a lever and a couple of oranges would drop down a glass chute and be compressed by a plunger, their bodies being pulped under the pressure. Out of the spout at the bottom of the machine would come the juice. It was all the same colour, all the same texture, all the same flavour. If you wanted you could even have the bits filtered out, the last traces of the texture of the fruit banished. You couldn't tell how many individual oranges had gone into making the glass of juice. The last act of this process was the kick back of the machine's handle which efficiently dumped out the crushed skins, the empty useless husks into a plastic bin.

She came home from that meeting deeply depressed. Nao was a girl she'd known for years. It was only about a year ago that they'd camped out together with Yuko, Michiko, Kinu and the boys down by the Oogurigawa River where they'd spent such a fun night telling stories and eating sweets. The girl she'd just met wasn't the Nao she used to know. It made her so sad to see these changes, so bitter. For her it wasn't so bad – she had decided last November that she wasn't going to university. So next year, 1997, would be her final year of school. She yearned for it to end, longed to escape the crushing faceless machine that was destroying her friends. She had a way out planned at the end, she had found a hatch in the side of the drum where the oranges were stored and was leaving, but for many of them she knew it was already hopeless. Why was the Japanese education system like this? What was the point of it when people grew up into corrupt bureaucrats, lining their pockets while the economy collapsed around them? Was the whole point of education to make you into a money-grabbing selfish island? If it was she wanted no part of it, and if it wasn't? Well that was even more upsetting because it had become broken and people didn't realize it. She had only recently begun thinking about things like this, but then she'd begun thinking about lots of new things in recent months. She supposed it was all part of growing up and your mind developing new concerns. To date all her manuscripts (and there were already several) had been works of fiction but a month ago she had sat at her desk, switched on her parents old laptop (they had finally got around to buying themselves a new one and she had been delighted to receive their cast-off), and staring at the blank page of the word processor she had begun to write, not fiction, but a jumbled angst ridden confession of all that she hated about Japan – the Japan she knew, a Japan seen through the eyes of a teenage girl who refused to be crushed, but who was filled with guilt since she knew she was only able to resist being crushed because she was leaving, escaping, running away. In her heart she knew that if she stayed, she too would be crushed. But in a couple of years it would happen. They would marry and as soon after that as the red tape would allow, they would emigrate to Italy. Maybe it was that which kept her sane, knowing it would soon be over. So her first work of non-fiction had been born, she already had over 20,000 words of anti-capitalist, anti-establishment, anti-education critique on the laptop and there was much more to write. She'd found people at school and at the internet café willing to talk about these things who had radical ideas of their own. She'd never before considered doing something against the system – screaming at it, yes, but actually constructively fighting it? This work was going to actually do something, do something positive, to help in a small way, to expose practices, people, the entrenched corrupt inertia of the system. The thing that scared her most was that unlike all her many fictional stories that lived in the box under her bed, she had a publisher for this, a local political magazine. She met one of the sub-editors one evening in a meeting at the internet café, told him what she was writing and he'd asked to see her material. Immediately he'd read it, he'd agreed to accept the series of articles and publish them over a period of months. She knew it was left wing and writing reactionary politics was scary but she felt this needed to be done. She was also torn by guilt because she'd said nothing to this man of her future plans – here she was criticizing the system and at the same time running away. She felt like a cheat, a liar.

But she had other things to worry about as well. Or rather another person. Her relationship with Seiji was a lot like their home town. Hilly. Up and down. Sometimes it was smooth and flat and level and they freewheeled along laughing, loving and sharing. There would be an occasional downhill run where all she could do was hold on tight to him in exhilaration as wonderful emotions and sensations filled them. At other times they would ride uphill, and it was plain hard work. Just struggling along was an effort, it made her sweat. Once or twice she had wanted to get off, not to push but to sit at the roadside and just cry. But it worked, after a fashion, and despite close misses from other traffic, other careless drivers, they kept going. Like today. Let me tell you about today.

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12 to 18 December 2006

For author notes about chapter 1 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	3. Ch 2 The Boy Who Was Upstaged by a Cat

**Chapter Two – The Boy who was Upstaged by a Cat**

They were walking down an avenue somewhere above Iroha-Zaka, somewhere above and over the hill a little way from the library. She realized they were not far from the Earth Shop. _Or rather_, she corrected herself, _the building that had once been the Earth Shop. Best not to think about that now_. Fine houses were to either side, cherry trees lined the verges. The cherry blossom was especially beautiful this year, dense and creamy. She wondered if it was putting on a special display for her, one more spring of cherry blossoms and she'd be gone. Oh, how much she wanted to be gone. She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back. Her special squeeze, _not done for just anyone you know_. She realized she'd been giving his hand lots of special squeezes recently. As though she needed to keep affirming that he and she were still special. She hoped they were but she didn't know if he thought so too. He put his other hand in his pocket and took out a small coin. He gave it to her.

"Penny for them?" he asked

She looked at the copper coin. Pretty much worthless these days during the economic crash,

"Will you miss it?"  
"Will I miss what?"  
"The cherry blossom."  
"Why should I? It'll always be here."  
"You won't be though. Will you?"  
"Oh, I see."  
"What?"  
"This is another one of those conversations is it?"  
"What's that tone supposed to mean?"  
"Is this going to be a conversation made up completely of questions?"  
"Is that a problem for you?" she was getting cross now.

He stopped, let go of her hand, folded his arms,

"OK then, let's talk."

She looked at him. _Alright,_ she thought, _if you're in that mood, we will_.

"You're not thinking of dropping out of the apprenticeship in Cremona are you?"  
"No, I'm not. But I worry about it all the time. Well, the times when I'm not worrying about school that is."  
"Why does it worry you? It's your dream."  
"It used to be, now it's _our_ dream. You're involved. I got you involved so now I have to consider you as well. When it was just me it was simple. Now it's blown up into something much bigger, there is so much responsibility. Marriage for example. Looking for somewhere to live. Money - I worry about money, I know the apprenticeship post is paid but I'm pretty sure it won't be much. Some days I sit and think, _can I handle this? Am I strong enough?_"  
"Wow."  
"What?"  
"That was some speech."  
"You know me. Quiet for weeks. Stuff builds up. Like a blocked drain. Then all the muck comes out."  
"You're not alone in this Seiji. We have a deal, remember? Yes, I'm coming with you but that doesn't mean you must carry me. We had this conversation years ago. I'm not here as baggage, I refuse to be." Now she was confused as well as angry, "Seiji, why are we talking about this again? We've discussed all this before. Why is it all still festering away inside you? Come on, there must be more to it that this."

He broke eye contact and looked at his feet,

"I just don't know if I'm strong enough."  
"You don't need to be. That's one reason we are going to get married. From then on we share everything. Including the load. Come on, get with the program!"

He looked at her. She thought he didn't look convinced. _OK, time once again for me to convince you then_,

"Seiji, I want this. I really want it so much! I've been thinking a lot recently about how much I don't want to be here any more."  
"Here?"  
"In Japan."  
"Huh?"  
"Haven't you noticed? Everything is falling apart here. The economy is failing, inflation is soaring, the politicians are idiots, school just… well… school just… sucks!"  
"Shizuku!"  
She rolled her eyes, "Don't play the innocent with me. You must have picked up on how I feel about all this. You're not getting cold feet are you? You're not going to turn round and tell me that now you want to stay on for university? Please don't do that."

He unfolded his arms and stuffed his hands into his pockets. He looked at his feet. Then he walked on. She stood and looked at his receding back for a moment, she spoke a rude word under her breath, a curse. Then she followed him. She jogged a few paces to catch up.

"Is it me, then? Is it something I'm doing?"  
"Shizuku, I just don't know what it is! I'm just really fed up with everything. I missed another homework assignment a couple of days ago and got another talking to from Nakashima-sensei. He's on the point of inviting dad into school to talk with him."  
"Why didn't you do the homework?"  
"I was out," he stopped again.

They'd come to a railing at the side of the street. They could see down into the valley from here. She rested her hands on the railing and looked at the view, watched a train snake along in the distance. All below them there were gardens of houses with cherry trees, streets lined with them, school yards full of them. The pink blossom was everywhere. Even the Tokyo suburbs could be beautiful at this time of year. She looked at him. He wasn't leaning on the railing. He wasn't relaxing. He stood with his hands in his pockets, his eyes downcast.

"Out? Where did you go?"

He didn't answer. He stood and examined his shoes. Shizuku waited patiently for him to speak. The silence went on. She looked at his shoes as well. A spot of water appeared on the toecap of the left one. She looked up at his face, he was looking into the distance now but not at the view. Another tear ran down his cheek and dropped from his chin.

"I was here. I was at the Earth Shop."

Her heart ached, a lump came to her throat. He went on,

"I rode up here and just stayed outside. For hours. I must have gone home about three in the morning. I just stayed here looking at it. It's empty now, mum said the first tenants had moved out, so I came here to just be near it. I don't have a key anymore so I stood outside. I stood with my hand on the wood of the door. Shizuku, I can still feel him. He's still in there to me. I miss him so much."

There was a steady trickle of tears now, pattering onto his shoes. She turned to him, took his limp arms and put them round her waist, then she reached up and put hers around his neck. She held him. For a few moments she didn't say anything and neither did he. Then, quietly,

"You've got to let go Seiji. Let him go. It's been nine months now. Please."  
"I can't. I just _can't_. He was my whole world."  
That hurt her, "Seiji, what about me? Don't I count? Don't I mean anything to you?"

She stepped one pace back but kept her hands on his shoulders, she studied his face. It was closed, he wasn't showing her anything,

"Look at me,"

His vacant eyes moved and his gaze rested on her face. Then she kissed him quickly and fiercely,

"Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

For a moment there was no reaction. Then he met her gaze again, his eyes, his lips managed a faint smile,

"Help me, Shizuku. I'm drowning here. I don't see a way out. I miss him. Every day, all the time."  
"Then marry me and come to Italy with me. There's your way out. Our way out. I hate it here now, most of my friends are turning into strangers, I just don't want to _be_ here any more. You didn't used to be like this. You used to be the one making decisions, who knew what he was doing. If you are going to dig a big hole for yourself outside the Earth Shop and crawl in it then you're not the boy I met two years ago, you're someone else. And I don't like this new boy at all. I know you miss grandpa, but soon it will be a year and you have just got to break out of it and move on."  
"Shizuku I know that, I just… I just can't _do_ it."  
"If you can't do it for yourself then do it for me. Can you do that?"  
"I want to."  
"Then we're half way there already then."  
"Why do you love me Shizuku? I'm hopeless."  
"Where did _that_ come from? What _are_ you talking about?"

He looked into her eyes. She could feel he needed to pass on something vital, something that was a very cornerstone of him, she suddenly felt that the boy she had known was a stranger and she was meeting someone new for the first time.

"For years I would go to grandpa's shop to be with him. To get away from home. From dad. I even found out I was good at something, something worthwhile, something that had a future. So I made plans for that future. Plans that only had me in them. Plans that involved going away. For good. Then it went wrong. My plans all went wrong. Because I saw someone. From a distance. Someone I liked."

She moved against him again, her arms round him. She laid her head to one side against his chest. She listened. She thought she knew where this was going now, she kept silent and let him pour it out,

"I would be at school and stand and watch this person, not daring to go up to them and speak. I couldn't find the courage. This person often went to the library, either in the town or the one in school. So I went there too. It was like they had a lead and I was a faithful dog. I'd stand a little way away pretending to look at books on shelves, sneaking glances at this person as they did their studies. Then one day I showed the only bit of initiative I've ever taken with her. I grabbed a stack of books from the shelves where she usually went and checked them out. I went back a week later and checked out some more. This went on for months. Then one day I found that the initiative I'd taken was wasted. She came to my grandpa's shop and left her lunch behind."  
"It wasn't my lunch, remember?"  
"Shizuku, I don't think you know me at all really. You met a boy who had decided to make violins and go to Italy. A boy who seemed to be in control, who seemed to know what he wanted. But this boy was someone who was often alone and who didn't make friends easily. The one time he tried to get a girl to notice him he got upstaged by a cat. You don't know how much that hurt him."  
"Seiji, I've had this conversation with myself."  
"That doesn't make sense."  
"Last year, in Cremona when I first found the Luisa doll and met Anna-Marie. I sat in bed that night and wrote a letter to your grandpa telling him I'd found the doll and the girl he'd lost all those years before. I sat and wondered whether what I was doing was the right thing, whether or not maybe your grandpa would rather not know and I should leave him in peace. But then I thought about Moon and how I followed him to the shop and how I forgot dad's lunch and how you'd brought it to me at the library. Everything linked together, it was like a strange chain of links, the most unlikely and curious chain. I thought about it for ages. In the end I decided that this chain was made intentionally, I can't explain it at all. I don't believe in a God who made us and controls us or anything like that but looking at this chain I can't see any other explanation. Coincidences are just not this perfect. Somehow this was _intended_ to happen. So I decided that night that it was meant to be and I wrote the letter to him. And that is what started it all off. He wrote two things to me after that. A letter which I received in Italy thanking me for sending him the cat doll, and then the day we went back to the shop after the funeral he'd packed up the two dolls in a box and written a card, a note for me."  
"You never told me that."  
"I'll show you, I have both the card and the letter still. I didn't understand it at the time but the handwriting of the letter and on the card were not right, he obviously had trouble writing. I think that perhaps, before the heart attack, that he had a smaller one, or maybe a stroke. It must have been very soon after he received the doll from me because he wrote back the next day. And yet, yet he went on to do the most beautiful work on that doll,"

Tears were in her eyes now, her heart was in her throat, constricting it, hurting. It became hard to speak,

"You've seen it. You've seen the clothing, the repairs, its exquisite. It might be the best work he ever did. Even though he was very ill. And when he finished, it was over. He knew it was over and so he rested. He let go, it was done. He didn't need to see Luisa again, I know that now. He chose to go before we got there because what he'd done was all that needed to be done, to be said. He said it with the dolls. He said it by giving them to me. The strange chain that started when I saw a cat get on a train at Mukouhara station ended when I unwrapped those two dolls the day of his funeral. He was a part of that chain and you are too. He was telling us that love is the most important thing, love lives on for years. You don't know do you, but it was your love that started it. When you watched me and took those books out, and I saw your name on the cards, that's when I first thought about you. You were just a name to me but I began to wonder what you were like. It's been the oddest chain but you were the first link, you and your library cards. Seiji, you were never upstaged by a cat, the cat was just another link a bit further down the chain. So was I, so was grandpa, so was Anna-Marie. Grandpa used those dolls to tell us that there is only one thing in life that's really worthwhile. And it's love."

She looked up from his jacket to his face. He had stopped crying. The tracks of his tears lay down his face in two silver lines. He stared into some private distance.

"Seiji?"  
"I'm listening."  
"You can let your grandpa go now. He did what he was meant to do, he was a good link in the chain, a strong link, one that lasted years and which forged many other links, but he was just a link. You and I are links now and we need to forget the links behind us and think about the ones in front of us, the ones we can't see yet. There is Cremona, there is Signore Guarnieri, there are people in Italy we've not met yet - our friends we don't yet know. There are my books and stories and hopefully a publisher who's sitting somewhere in an office today and doesn't even know I exist. There is our wedding to look forward to. There are your violins and there are ten years of hard work in front of you. And those ten years are ahead of us. Ten whole years, just for us. We can rent an apartment and be together, just you and me. Let's go and experience them. I don't think its going to be easy, yes money may be a problem, but really it just isn't that important. Lots of people make money their life's focus but I won't. Yes we may struggle but we'll have each other. That will suffice. I'm determined these things are what I want and I want you to want them also. And you know perfectly well that it's what Shirou wanted as well."  
"You've never called him that before."  
"And I don't need to call him that again. Nor do you. It's our time now, we must move on. _You_ must move on, Seiji. Please?"

He didn't answer, but he did hold her and kiss her and for now she took that as being answer enough.

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13 to 18 December 2006

For author notes about chapter 2 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	4. Ch 3 Mom's Aren't Stupid : They Know

**Chapter Three – Mom's aren't Stupid. They Just _Know_**

_Seiji - Cremona - February 2005_

Following that May afternoon under the cherry blossom I felt that I owed it to her and to myself to look forwards and not back. Or at least try to. I'm not saying it was like throwing a switch and it became easy, not even half way easy. Every day I still thought about grandpa, but when I did I also thought about her face and her words. These were such a comfort. I knew I owed her a lot for that.

I also thought back to the attic room in Cremona the previous year and that morning when I awoke and recalled her words. She has this way of doing this to me and I've no idea where her strength comes from. She can say things that don't sound like they are spoken from someone her age. Perhaps her reading all those books has paid off. The image of that chain and how grandpa was just one link in it and how we are the next links stuck with me. It's even with me now, today, all these years later.

Her words are often as beautiful as she is, and that's the main reason I decided to press on that year and fight the things that were dragging me down. Sometimes I think I don't deserve her but then I think again, well, in a way she chose me as much as I chose her. How we met wasn't a case of someone up above deciding we matched, or deserved each other, it was just more links connecting together. Things that once seemed random to me make more sense after she has put them into her own words. Things to me seem scattered around the floor. Her words pick them up and arrange them in order on a shelf and I can make sense of them. That's one of her strongest skills, she's a great healer like that. At that time I'd only heard one of her stories; the one she read to me in the airport in Milan the year before, but, really, I thought then, even in it's rough draft, the publisher who turns down that work is a fool. She can write as well as she can talk, it's the same words but on paper. I knew that one day her words would reach millions and give hope and pleasure to them as well. I'm not going to crow over it and say I told you so, but it turned out I was right. And I'm pleased that I was, pleased in a completely selfish way because it was that first book of hers that practically saved us. But I will tell you about that in its proper time. I should keep to 1996 for now.

So from then on I focused on my school work, on being a good son for father and on making time for Shizuku. After what she said under the cherry blossom I knew she deserved as much of my time as I could give her.

The old shop stayed empty for several weeks. We didn't get new tenants in again until the second week of June. After that day I never went back there at night, I found I didn't need to; her healing was working. However mom would visit, run the heating, run the water and open the doors to keep the place fresh, she would dust and wash around. One day I felt I had the guts to go there again so I went with her and helped out. I found it strange and as I stepped in I was fearful – this would be the first time I'd gone inside since the funeral. But I found it a strangely invigorating experience, for one it felt not much like his shop any more. Mom had arranged a complete redecoration; there was now an entryway inside the front door so you could remove your shoes and that gave onto a lounge near the fire and a dining area to the left. The smaller space behind the stairs down to the workshop had become a lovely light filled refuge with soft seats and sliding doors that opened wide to the whole width of the upper balcony. I even found from somewhere deep down inside me the guts to descend the stairs to the old workshop. This had been converted into a self contained apartment. The main room was now a living space with a futon and where his workshop had been there was now a tiny kitchenette and a shower room in the back corner. Again, the small door to the balcony had been replaced with sliding panels and it seemed so much bigger down here, there was so much more light. It was so different. Upstairs the kitchen had been gutted and refitted and there was a new bathroom. Grandpa's big bedroom had been divided into two and with the small spare room where I'd sometimes slept there were now three bedrooms. It was so odd going in. It was the same building but a different home. It had enough of the old Earth Shop to be familiar yet enough that was new to make it different, refreshing. I found no ghosts lurking there.

The next time mom was due to go back and clean I asked her if I could do it. She gave me a funny look, she knew how much I had struggled after he went but I told her I needed to get over this and this was as good a way as any. Then I really tried my luck. I asked her if it would be OK if I slept there. I would take a clean futon and some towels, she needn't worry about me leaving the place dirty. My palms were sweating when I asked her. But, after consulting father, they agreed.

I felt guilty because I was deceiving them. After mom dropped me off with the bedding and a box of groceries, I telephoned her. This was the reason, she was the reason I'd done it. I had an ulterior motive, I was a scheming, plotting deceiver and I felt bad about doing that to mom. Mind you I think like most moms, she had an idea what was going on. I've found out the hard way that mom's aren't stupid, they just _know_.

I spent the afternoon cleaning, letting in fresh air. And then as evening came she arrived. I'm not going to lie to you. I was nervous, I was sweating. I needn't have worried. When I opened the door she stood there looking like an angel from heaven. She had even chosen to wear the orange dress and she'd done something marvelous with her hair, she'd pinned it up in a really cute way which made her look older. We cooked a meal together, we ate on the open balcony then afterwards I took her by the hand and led her upstairs. I lit candles and then I thanked her. I thanked her repeatedly that night. I owed her so much. I was so grateful for her sticking with me through all my complaining and self doubt. In the morning I thanked her again, slowly and beautifully. It was a wonderful night but we never had the opportunity to repeat it; the house was let to new tenants the following week.

What was I saying about mom? Yes, that was it, she _knew_. I don't know how she guessed; maybe she taps the phone or has spy cameras in the house. Or perhaps she's just a mom. Two days later she spoke to me about it:

"Was the house alright?"  
"Yes," I'd replied, "Yes, mom, everything was fine."  
"Any problems?"  
"None at all. I cleaned up before I left."  
"Good. And did everything go alright for you two?"  
"Yes, no problems at all..."

And I stopped. My face went bright red. How did she guess? She just looked at me, and then her eyes twinkled and she laughed,

"I'm not cross, Seiji," she'd said, "I've been wondering when it would happen. I'm very happy for you. You just need to be careful, yes?"

And, to my amazement, I laughed with her.

"You know Seiji, she's a very nice girl, what I've seen of her. She seems to have her head screwed on the right way. Why don't you invite her to the house? We could have dinner one evening. I'm sure she'd like to meet us again."

I gave a non-committal response. Dad was still the problem, I still wasn't comfortable in the same room as him.

As to the Earth Shop, it would be a long time before we would step over it's threshold again, eight years in fact, but I never forgot that night and how she responded, how she loved me and I loved her.

There are events that stick in your mind for ever, some are trivial, some are not. I count myself lucky that year upon year the memory of that night stays with me, even after everything else that has happened. It was something pure and innocent that we no longer have, even in our purest moments now we have grown up and cannot go back to those early times that were so fresh, new and wonderful.

Shizuku. Thank you.

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13 to 15 December 2006

For author notes about chapter 3 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	5. Ch 4 Shizuku Gets Into a Fight

**Chapter Four – Shizuku Gets Into a Fight**

_Shizuku – Tama – September 1996_

When we left Cremona last year I knew we would go back. That wasn't what the coin in the fountain was wishing for - I'll tell you about that later. And also I don't mean that I thought I would return with Seiji years later when he began making violins. I didn't need to wish for that, I knew_ that_ was going to happen.

But I had this feeling that we had to go back – we _needed_ to go back there, or rather _I_ needed to go back there – and it had to be very soon. I think then I had decided what I had to do and the time to accomplish this was running out. Because she was so old. I spoke to Seiji about it in the spring and he spoke to his parents. We would just go for a week. This time it would be just a holiday and we couldn't justify to ourselves or to our parents taking more time away from school studies. Hmmm… there were those two ugly words again. School. Studies. How I had come to loathe them. I was coasting through high school now, doing the minimum required to stay out of trouble and maintain grades that my teachers and mom and dad would be happy with. I was playing the system and got a twisted kick out of it. I studied hard in the subjects I knew would be useful: languages, computer sciences, mathematics, Japanese language and literature, political studies. But for the rest, everything just ticked over.

Hm… I'm rambling. Like my stories. Where was I?

Ah, yes, booking the trip. Money was even more of an issue than last year. In the end we took cheap flights. The direct flight with Japan Airlines was very good but it had been ridiculously expensive. I mean silly money. My return seat had cost as much as two weeks stay at Tony's hotel. So this time we found the cheapest route practical with a stopover in Singapore and yet another change in Paris. It took us much longer and at the end of it we were practically screaming down each others throats with exhaustion and frustration but there was no other way. In a way it was good. Traveling by Japan Airlines is so easy, so comfortable, doing it the cheap and hard way is an experience worth having. Well, once anyway. Just so that you can tuck it under your belt and say you've done it. Those hours in the middle of the night on the floor of _Charles de Gaulle_ airport are ones I don't want to repeat, but as a learning experience I recommend everyone does it once.

Booking the accommodation though, I remember that was fun. I was talking with dad in the kitchen, at the table – hmm, how many interesting tales of angst and arguments that table could tell if it could speak. That reminds me, wait a moment please. I just need to get my notebook and write that down. A short story - called "The Table" - story centres around an old wooden table - gets passed through the hands of several owners - story is about conversations held around it - there should be a link between 2 of the owners - a boy and a woman maybe, etc. There that's done. Now, where was I? Um, yes, it was evening. I think we were all tired, a bit short tempered. Mom was behind him, tap tapping away on the laptop.

"...flying out on the 11th and returning on the 18th. Just seven nights. Saturday to Saturday. Dad, you know that place I stayed last year? Well it was a really good price wasn't it? And Tony, the man who owned the hotel turned out to be a real gentleman, very kind and helpful so I'd like to stay there again."  
"Seiji isn't staying in the violin making school this year is he?"  
"No, we'll both stay in the hotel."  
"And Seiji's father has agreed to meet the cost of the flights?"  
"Mm, yes."  
"So two rooms then. What was the place called? Alfonso something wasn't it? I still have the address here somewhere…"  
"One room dad."

He'd been scribbling notes on the back of an envelope. His pencil stopped. _Here we go_, I thought. I knew what was coming now. In a way it gave me a perverse pleasure to have this conversation. This subject had been avoided for far too long, it was time to settle it. I was looking forward to this. I sat quietly awaiting the reaction, my hands in my lap, a smile on my face. He looked up,

"You can't share a room with a boy at your age Shizuku."  
"I'm nearly seventeen, dad."  
"You're sixteen. What's the age of consent?"  
"Eighteen."  
"Correct, so I want you to have separate rooms."

Big breath. This was it. Fight with dad time.

"That isn't going to stop us."

There were a few moments silence. The pencil had returned to the envelope and was about to make another note when it stopped again. The tap tapping of mom's fingers on the laptop also stopped. From the corner of my eye I saw her look up from the screen and stare ahead at the bookshelves.

"Shizuku, that's very true, it won't," he looked up at me, "but my instructions to you will."

There was a pause. Silence. I held dad's gaze. The stare went on, someone had to give way here and the longer it went on I didn't want it to be me.

"Yasuya, you know, Shizuku isn't a virgin,"

It was mom who dropped the bomb. I was a little cross with her, I'd wanted to do it, but I was also grateful to have her support. Of course I'd written to mom last year, the next morning after it had happened as it turned out. I'd been so happy that I just had to tell her. We'd talked about it as well when I'd got home. She was so happy for me. I loved her to bits for that.

Dad's face went pale. He turned round to her,

"What did you say?"

Mom got up from the laptop and came and sat at the table, on dad's left. She looked at me,

"Shizuku, do you want to tell your father?"

I nodded,

"Dad. It was last year, in Cremona. Seiji and I…", I paused,  
"Why don't you say it."  
"Yasuya!"

Mom was shocked; he was being unusually difficult, trying to embarrass me. But I refused to be beaten by his shock tactics,

"It's alright mom," I turned to dad, "Seiji and I slept together. In my bed. I invited him. It was beautiful."  
"I'm not discussing the quality of the experience here, Shizuku. You were fifteen,"

His face was going a funny colour, I was getting a little worried now,

"You were _fifteen_," he repeated, "And you _slept_ with a boy."  
"You make it sound like I met a stranger off the street. It wasn't like that. We'd known each other nine months then."  
"That's not the point. You were too young. You are _still_ too young. You might have become pregnant!"  
"I don't think so,"

I was enjoying this. I don't know why. I'd been itching for a fight for weeks, maybe it was my hormones or maybe it was a safety valve against all the nonsense that was happening at school. I got up and walked to the door.

"Where are you going? I'm talking to you. Shizuku!"

I ignored him. I went to my bedroom, pulled open my knicker drawer and got the packet out. I came back into the kitchen and dropped it on the table in front of him. The contraceptive pills.

"There. I wouldn't have got pregnant. It wasn't a stupid moment of lust or carelessness where we didn't consider the consequences. Please credit me with some sense."

Mom was looking at me. I think she gave the tiniest shake of the head: _don't push your luck._ Dad looked at the box.

"How long have you been taking these? How long have you been doing it?"  
"Doing what dad? Why don't you say it?"

Mom looked shocked _and_ angry now; there was a definite _back off Shizuku_ look in her eyes. Dad's face went an even funnier colour,

"Don't be cheeky with me Shizuku."

OK, maybe that was a tactless move. I indicated that I knew I'd made a mistake by lowering my eyes.

"Shizuku has been taking the pill for over a year."

_Oh, mom, thank you!_ Dad looked at her.

"You _knew_?"  
"Of course. Do you think your daughter would go on the pill and invite Seiji into her bed without talking to her mom about it first?"

He put a hand to his temple, rubbing it with two fingers as though he had a headache. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. With his glasses off I noticed how old he looked. I wasn't really being fair on him was I?

"I remember once when I was the head of this family," he said slowly, "decisions like this would have been laid in front of me for me to make."  
"Dad. I wasn't undermining your authority, nor was mom. But now I'm getting older and I need to talk to her about things more. You know, girl stuff. Stuff I can't talk to you about. This was one of those things you just don't talk to your dad about."  
Mom spoke, "And I never mentioned it because it's a private thing. It's like," she paused looking for an example, "mmm… periods I suppose. These are the kind of girl things that the father just isn't involved in."  
"But this is such a big thing for our daughter Asako, alongside things like marriage or moving out or getting a job it's the most important thing there is. It would have been right to consult me."

_wow, that was an interesting list,_ I thought, _you just mentioned the exact three things I plan to do as soon as this nightmare called school ends_.

"Dad, it wasn't a sudden thing. I thought about it for ages. I'd become so worried about it. I went and spoke to mom and we sat and talked about it,"

_we sat here at this table, right where she and I are sat now _

"and mom was so helpful. She talked about when she was young and the worries she had. Hm, that would have been with you I suppose,"

Mom went pink at this point, I thought that was cute,

"and, well, I'm just saying it wasn't an impulse thing. We talked it over and decided that if it happened it would be better if I was taking those," I pointed at the little box in front of him, "and she also suggested I should talk to Seiji about it when I got the chance."  
"Oh, yes I'm sure he'd have liked to talk about _that_."  
"Dad! That's rude! Don't you _ever_ make assumptions about Seiji like that. _How dare you?_"

Dad's face had taken on a strange aspect and I discovered that was because I was looking down on it and he was looking up at me. I'd stood up without realizing it. I had knocked my chair over and my fists had banged on the table. I looked down at them as though they were someone else's. Then I glared at him. He stayed calm, I'll give him credit for that. He began to say something but I deliberately interrupted him, my voice raised,

"Now, you listen to me, Shizuku…"  
"No, dad, you listen to me. I won't hear you say things about Seiji like that, in that tone of voice. I love him for lots and lots of reasons but one of them is that he's a very considerate person. Do you know, that night in Cremona last year, we talked about it for ages beforehand. Do you know what he mentioned? A condom. He bought a condom. He's the one who brought up the subject of making sure I didn't get pregnant. That's the kind of person he is. He thinks things through. He pays attention to what I might need. I love him and I'm going to marry him and I won't have you thinking he's some kind of mucky little boy with wandering hands who just wanted to get in my pants from the day he met me."

I'd raised my voice. I'd raised my voice to my dad but in the past when we'd argued I'd just ranted and raved like the child I was. And he always won because he had a point and I was just a stubborn whiney kid. Tonight I had a point and I'd made it. I felt so good about this, I think I need to shout more often, it feels good. I waited for the reaction, but the one I got wasn't what I'd expected. The two of them sat there, staring at me, wide eyed and mouths open.

"Now what?"

_did they want me to shout some more?  
_  
Mom spoke first, "You never mentioned that before."

Was she slow or what? Never mentioned what? What hadn't I mentioned?

"Well that puts a different perspective on things."  
"What does dad?"  
"If your plans include that. I think that's a lot different," he turned to mom, "don't you think so?"

Mom just smiled, a big wide grin lit up her face.

"Shizuku! That's fantastic news! When did you decide?"

I must have looked like the stupidest idiot in the world. My face went blank. I had lost the flow completely. Or had they lost the plot? What were they on about? When did I decide I liked shouting? This was just odd, plain odd. Mom stood up, she came round the table to me, picked up my fists, uncurled them and held the hands that she made from them.

"I am so pleased! Do you have any kind of idea when?"  
"When what, mom?"  
"When you'll marry Seiji of course! What's the matter with you?"  
"Oh. Didn't you know? Didn't I tell you before?"  
"Of course not, do you think I'd forget something like this?"  
"Well, you know he's planning to live in Italy for ten years after high school ends?"  
"Yes, you mentioned it a few times. You'll stay on and go to university won't you? You mentioned that a year ago didn't you?"  
"I did. But that was a year ago. Things have changed now."

She looked at me. I think then she understood.

"Mom," I looked at my father still seated at the table, "dad, I'm going with him. I want to marry Seiji as soon as we can, and we are going to emigrate together. I can't stay in Japan anymore. I don't like it here."  
"What do you mean?" asked dad.  
"I hate the way Japan is going, dad. Everything is going bad. The economy, the politicians, people are losing their jobs, the school system is just grinding young people down, ruining their lives. That can't be right."

He looked at me. I noticed the funny colour had gone from his face.

"Well, I can at least understand that. But the economy will bounce back. And once enough people complain the political system can be changed too."  
"You're probably right. But I want no part of that because Seiji won't be here. I can't spend ten years without him, I'd never be able to stand it, even if we wrote or spoke on the phone every day, being separated from him for that long would break my heart, I'd die."  
Mom spoke, she was looking at me in an intense way, "I never knew you felt quite like this about him, Shizuku. Is this a new thing or have you always felt this way?"  
"I think it's been growing over the winter. Since Italy last year really. Those three weeks really changed me. They were wonderful. My two cat dolls might not seem much to the two of you but they are very special to me, they were special to Seiji's grandpa as well and… well, I don't really want to go into that right now because it would take all night. But then when Seiji's grandpa died and he went through such a hard time, it was like I fell in love with him all over again, only on a whole new magnitude of strength. He asked me quite properly to marry him. He knows what he's doing."  
"Shizuku, I'm sorry I said that thing about him. I apologize."  
"That's fine dad, thanks. I understand why you said it though. You were worried. About me. So, mmm, thanks."  
"You'll be getting married very young, Shizuku. Is that wise?" – Mom again.  
"I think so. But we have to. Seiji is going to begin his apprenticeship as soon as he leaves school so he could go anytime after April 1998. I've talked to him and told him I'd need a job. I've got a couple of ideas in mind and when I'm at the internet café I look up Italian web sites and store away addresses and telephone numbers. According to the Italian embassy here you need to have a job already in place before they let you into the country, so I've got to organize all that. And of course there is a lot less red tape if a married couple enter the country than two single people - not that I would live with him unmarried of course - marriage is what we both want. So I suppose we will travel out there sometime during 1998 which means we plan to get married during that year, in the spring maybe."  
"A father needs to give his consent though."  
"But you would, dad. Wouldn't you?"  
"Do you know, Shizuku what I would like? I would like Seiji to arrange to visit your mother and I and ask for your hand. I think that would be very sweet of him and of course it is the proper way to do it. Then we can have a nice long talk with him."  
"Oh, dad, that would be so scary for him."  
"Please ask him to. You know, I think he will do it, he seems like that sort of boy."  
"OK, then. I will."  
"And I suppose I had better book that hotel room for you."  
"How many rooms will you book?"  
He smiled, "Just the one I think, Shizuku. The second one would be a waste of money wouldn't it? I have a feeling it would just sit empty for a week whether I gave you my instructions or not."  
"Yes, dad, it would."  
"Well, that's settled then. You can consider that to be my acceptance."  
"Thanks dad, you're a really good person."  
"But."  
"Yes?"  
"Don't you ever have those kind of relationships with him in my house. Never here, I don't give permission for that. So don't ask us if he can stay the night because we will refuse."  
"Yes, dad, I understand."

_Oops, better not tell you about that time last December then, when you and mom went out to the theatre and he came round.  
_

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14 to 17 December 2006  
some minor adjustments for plot 31 December 2006

For author notes about chapter 4 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	6. Ch 5 Three Phone Calls

**Chapter Five – Three Phone Calls **

_Shizuku – Tama – June 1996 _

After we had decided all that, I telephoned the Hotel Alfonso one evening a couple of days later. Tony answered and hearing his voice it was like going back in time to last summer. All I could imagine was a huge grin answering the phone,

"Allo, Hotel Alfonso?"  
"Buongiorno! Tony! È Shizuku!"  
"She-zoo-koo?"  
"Si! Shizuku, Agosto Scorso. La stanza della soffitta!"  
"She-zoo-koo! Well, hello. It is so good to hear you again! Are you coming to see me?"

All I could do was grin like an idiot as well, his voice was so full of smiles, fun and well, a tinge of madness also.

"Yes. In August. For one week. Can you give us a room?"  
"She-zoo-koo, if the Queen of England was staying here I would throw her out and make room for you! Of course! Do you want camera sedici?"

In my mind I saw the Queen of England being thrown bodily down the Hotel Alfonso steps and crumpling in a heap by the horse trough. I imagined a crown go rolling by. I didn't doubt for a moment he would do it.

"Yes please. Seiji is coming too, There will be two of us staying."  
"Oh, I see," he chuckled, "I had better get a new bed then, that old one is squeaking worse than ever."

Even though he was 6,000 miles away, and couldn't see me, I went bright red. He was such a naughty man, such a funny man. Why wasn't there a woman in his life? There should be, she'd have such fun. Maybe there once was, perhaps I'd have time this year to ask him.

"That would be so nice of you. We'll try not to keep you awake this time. We are coming on the eleventh and leaving on the eighteenth, so seven nights, breakfast as well."

I was getting quite good at this, only sixteen and organizing holidays, accommodation, what was the world coming to?

"Oh, and She-zoo-koo, I will get in more tagliatelli, eh? And this time you are older yes, so I will get you to try some Lambrusco, you'll like it, like lemonade, only much nicer."

The man was impossible, I found myself laughing. Really, some days I just ought to telephone him and be cheered up. What a nice man. I decided there and then that I'd take him a present.

"That sounds interesting. My father will write and send you payment. How much is it?"

At once the efficient business man, he told me. I wrote the amount down.

-oOo-

The next call I made was to a little art shop in the _Vicolo Maurino_. It was odd, I had to think of the big time difference. In order to catch Anna-Marie at the shop I had to phone late at night my time. There was that strange feeling of being connected across all those thousands of miles under the sea again, odd little clicks and buzzes. Then I heard the phone ringing, after a few rings it was picked up,

"Buongiorno, _Arte Maurino_."  
"Buongiorno signora Baroni, ciò è Shizuku. Shizuku Tsukishima."  
"Shizuku! Come siete? È bello sentirlo denominare!"  
"Come siete Anna?"

It was lovely, my Italian came flooding back to me, she sounded well.

"Sono molto bene e la madre sta facendo benissimo inoltre."  
"Anna, my Italian is not _that_ good. Can you speak in English please?"  
"Of course, it is not a problem. It is lovely to hear your voice Shizuku, why are you calling?"  
"Anna – Seiji and I are going to visit Cremona again in August. From the eleventh to the eighteenth. Will you and your mother be around?"  
"Yes, we will be. And yes, you can come and see us, that would be just lovely. Luisa will be so pleased."  
"Oh, that's good. Can I ask something, a big favour?"  
"Certainly."  
"I am working on trying to track down the history of the two dolls, trying to find exactly when and where they were made, and who by. Would it be alright if I asked your mother some questions?"  
"Oh, I'm not sure. But I think so, providing you don't tire her out too much."  
"I'll try not to. I can come over a few times and talk to her in short visits if that would help."  
"Yes, I think that would be fine. I may be busy at the shop but there is a bus that runs between the city and Busseto, so you could go over to see her when you like. You'd just need to telephone first."  
"Oh, yes, that would work out quite well. Would it be alright with you if I used a tape recorder to record her voice? I really want to trace down some quite small details and she would hopefully recall them from when she was a schoolgirl, but recording is so much better than note-taking."  
"Well, I will ask her. If you like I can call you back later in the week and let you know."  
"That's very kind of you, Anna, thank you."  
"My pleasure Shizuku. Oh, we got the photo you sent of the dolls. They look so nice. I never saw the Baron of course, he is quite handsome isn't he?"  
"Yes, he's very smart, I like him, his face seems to be different on different days, I think it is something to do with the light."  
"And the Baroness is really beautiful, Mr. Nishi did such a wonderful job on her."  
"Yes, he was very clever, very skilful. I think his restoration of the Baroness doll was perhaps the best work he ever did."

_Baka!_ I had a tear in my eye and a lump in my throat. I covered it up by pretending I had a cough.

"Anna, if you like I will bring the dolls with me, I'm sure Luisa would like to see them."  
"Oh, yes, yes! That would be lovely. But… well, I will just check with mother first before you go to all the trouble. I'm not certain it would be good for her old heart if you know what I mean."  
"Yes, I quite understand."  
"So I will call you in a few days."  
"Thank you. Good bye."  
"Take care Shizuku, bye bye."

The line went dead. I hoped I was doing the right thing. I wanted to know so much about these dolls, it had become some sort of obsession with me. I needed to find closure on them and their story. I just hoped I didn't pry too much on Luisa's private life and hurt her by digging up old ground.

-oOo-

There were a couple more things to do. My next phone call was something of a wild hope, but if I didn't call, we might never meet again, so in a way I had to. This was much harder as this person worked in the day where I could not reach him, I had only his home telephone number. So I had to call him in the evenings his time which meant I had to phone at about three in the morning Tokyo time. That made things quite hard.

As it happens this boy was also quite difficult to get to speak to, he seemed to be out a lot in the evenings. Well that was to be expected, knowing what sort of a person he was. It took three telephone calls to finally catch him at home, but on the other two times I did have interesting talks in broken Italian with his mother. I wonder what she thought was going on, a girl all the way from Japan calling to talk to her son. I can only guess what she thought.

But then it was third time lucky. Although his English was not very good. Certainly worse than my Italian.

"Hi."  
"Adamo?"  
"Si. chi è quello?"  
"Adamo, è Shizuku. Se lo ricordate di?"  
"Shizuku? Abbiamo venuto a contatto di?"

I was confusing him. Hmm, he must have spoken to hundreds of girls since I last saw him, no wonder he didn't remember. I tried another approach,

"Il Volpi. Il caffè Volpi. Agosto Scorso."

There was a moments silence. Then he spoke and his voice changed, Now he remembered,

"Shizuku! The beautiful gorgeous Shizuku! The girl I dream of every night! How can I forget you!"

_Well, OK, Adamo, sure, but don't go overboard. _

"Hello, Adamo. Are you well?"  
"Si! Perfetto. And so much happier for hearing from you!"

_I would need to watch this one, he was a girl chaser of tragic proportions. _

"Adamo, Seiji and I are coming to Cremona again. In August. Will you be there?"  
"Oh, Shizuku, just forget about Seiji, come and meet me, let me take you away to Firenze, it is so beautiful there, a city for lovers!"  
"Well, that would be nice but with Seiji with me you would get in the way a little."  
"Ah, Shizuku, my beautiful Japanese angel, you are so hard to get close to."  
"Adamo! Stop it! We'd like to meet you, will you still be at the Volpi this year?"  
"Ah, alas, yes I will. One last year and then I begin university at Firenze, the city…"  
"…of lovers, yes I know."  
"Oh, Shizuku. You and I are so in tune with each other, we connect across thousands of miles, we are almost one already. Come to me and I will make our souls, our bodies, like a single…"  
"Adamo! Will you stop it!"

I was laughing despite myself, he was such an insane Casanova, a boy who just would not stop.

"My Shizuku, if you command me then I will obey and follow you to the ends of the earth."  
"There is no need for that. And I am calling from Japan so my father is paying for this call, so please let me speak."  
"Beautiful, mysterious Shizuku, I am yours to command."  
"Good, now be quiet…"  
"I love it when you take control, such an erotic mistress…"  
"Adamo! Shut up!"  
"More! More, I am almost there!"

_Wow, this boy had grown a lot weirder since last year. _

"Be quiet, this is important."  
"Oh, yes, oh, yes, I am nearly there!"  
"ADAMO!"  
"Uh, ungh, yes. I am sorry. I am finished, that was so beautiful with you, you play me with such skill, like a violin."  
"Adamo, look, if you don't stop it I will have to put this phone down."

My threats were useless, I was laughing. Had he just simulated an orgasm? To an almost complete stranger on the phone? How could you not like this Italian nutcase? If he was like this all the time, no wonder he had to shuffle girls like poker players shuffled cards. He just went on and on, I remember him saying something about his pillow being wet every night from his tears shed when I left, or some song he started to sing about my almond eyes and cherry lips. I think I could have put the phone down and gone and made tea and he'd still be enthusing about me when I got back.

That was the longest call of the three, the strangest but in an odd way the most enjoyable. We agreed to meet at the Volpi one day at the beginning of the week. Adamo said he had already met up with some university people who were a year ahead of him in their studies. He would take us to meet them in Firenze one day, he knew a great club we could go to. Did I dance? If I did we would set the dance floor on fire! And if I didn't he would teach me. He said teaching me would require a lot of body contact. He was just mad. He sounded very much more a man of the world than us sixteen year olds. I think he was nineteen now. He made me smile, but I really should watch out for him, I could see that sort of person laying it on as a joke for a long time then suddenly meaning it and it would be so hard to say no.

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16 December 2006  
additional bits 17 December 04:30 (yup, couldn't sleep)

For author notes about chapter 5 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	7. Ch 6 Summer of 96 Pt1 Narrator

**Chapter Six – Summer of '96, Part One**

_Narrator  
_  
It seemed to take far too long for school to end, for both of them. The usual struggles went on; with homework, with tests and some days with pure boredom. Their relationship somehow seemed to keep going although they had so little time to be together. Shizuku's calendar on the wall by her desk became a daily ritual, crossing out one more day. One more day. The twentieth of July. The twenty third. One more day. The twenty seventh. One more. So slow, time seemed to pass so slow. Like one of those nightmares when you are trying to run in treacle. The train became their church, their temple. They would have twenty minutes in it in the morning and on some evenings (on other days Shizuku would stay late at school for her European social history cram course), but more and more they would be together only on the train. Often holding hands and remaining silent was all they needed. Seiji pulled through the tunnel of loneliness grandpa had left him in. He confided in her that he had managed a whole week that week without thinking of him. He had thought of him only today and then he'd had a vision, or a dream. He was outside the Earth Shop. In his mind he had heard grandpa say,

"Seiji, don't listen to me, I'm just an old man who has said too much. Listen to her."

And he had turned around and walked into the Earth Shop, closing the door behind him. Sitting on the slatted wooden boardwalk had been Shizuku, leaning against the shop wall, with her knees up and her arms under her legs holding her skirt against her the way he had once seen her do. She had smiled at him. She had stood up,

"Come on, the shop's closed now so let's go, let's be together."

He had turned to look at the Earth Shop door and the CLOSED sign was hanging behind the glass. In his dream he had held her hand and they had walked away. When they reached the corner where the road began to turn downhill he had glanced back and where the Earth Shop had been there was now only a gap between the houses, there were only trees there.

-oOo-

And then August had come and school ended and a great weight was lifted from them. On the last afternoon they had gone into town with their classmates and just enjoyed a riotous chill out session. They'd sat in the park drinking lemonades, eating all kinds of bad takeaway food and just chatting, just joking, just laughing, just messing about, just being children. A couple of the students had brought guitars and they had an impromptu sing along. Suddenly they were kids again and Shizuku felt like she went back in time to three years ago before it had all started to go wrong.

That evening they had cycled up to the hilltop to their special place and watched the shadows fall across the city, watched the day die, watched the stars come out. Seiji had brought a blanket and he spread it out on the grass and there, under the stars they became one. She was so happy. And he became a person without a past, a man who at last looked to his future.

-oOo-

Shizuku has already mentioned that the flight to Europe was something of an ordeal and I won't go into any details. I know she said that their four hour stopover at _Charles de Gaulle_ was something dreadful; not to be repeated but in truth they spent it comfortably enough. They lay their coats on the floor and wrapped themselves up and using their hand luggage as pillows they'd got some sleep: Enough so that they were refreshed for the final leg to Milan Malpensa. Enough so that when the train pulled into Cremona station at seven the next morning they were awake and actually enjoyed the walk across town. No heavy bags this time, they'd packed for only a week and were traveling light. Enough so that when they finally got to the courtyard, to the hotel, to the amazing Tony and his sweat and his never ending grin they had energy enough to respond with real laughter and not a concocted polite façade just strong enough to last them until they could sleep. And best of all, enough so that once he'd left them and gone down the creaking stairs they had the energy to throw off their clothes, dive in the shower and then dive into bed. They had enjoyed each other like no other time before, nothing was serious, everything was funny. They'd laughed themselves hoarse at everything they did. They eventually fell asleep sometime in the afternoon and didn't awake until the evening when they went out, ate and walked for hours as the city performed it's free evening concerto for them. The bars, the crowds out walking, people looking at people, the street performers. They were back. To them it felt like home. They should never have gone away. This was where they were meant to be. This was where they _needed_ to be. And, Seiji reminded her, this was where they _would_ be.

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17 December 2006

For author notes about chapter 6 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	8. Ch 7 Summer of 96 Pt2 Luisa

**Chapter Seven – Summer of '96, Part Two**

_Luisa - Busseto – August 1996_

I had wondered when Shizuku and Seiji would return. I knew they would, but it became a case of would it be soon enough? The arthritis was determined and seemed to take over new joints each month, especially in the winter. Walking was completely out of the question now, even the hip replacement operation of four years ago had given only a temporary respite. Then in the late spring the pain began in my wrists, in my hands. I knew it was just a matter of time. I had spoken to the doctors, seen the pictures, read the books about other arthritis sufferers, in the end the pain twisted your hands into claws and your mind into darkness. It wasn't pretty and facing this certain future, I would some days be overwhelmed with despair. Which is why, when Anna came to me one June morning to tell me that Shizuku had telephoned I was so happy. A visit from her and that marvelous boy would be something to take my mind off the pain, off the future.

And perhaps Anna wasn't so surprised after all when I said yes to everything Shizuku asked. She wanted to talk about before the war, about Bavaria, about Shirou, about the dolls and about us. Anna had said she wanted to tape record interviews with me and show me maps and photographs to find out so much about the dolls. I didn't ask why. The girl had her own private reasons. I expect it was to do with her boyfriend and his grandfather and I never asked. To me it wasn't important. To her it was and that was enough.

I did ask two things. Could she bring the dolls, and could Seiji play his violin again for me? That afternoon last year I had seen through the young man, through the mistakes, the nervousness and the raw untrained playing. Behind it was a real skill, a real beauty and I wanted to experience that again. I did not know quite how serious Shirou's grandson was about making violins but I knew he could certainly play them.

On the first afternoon she came alone. We sat and drank tea and she ate all the biscuits and we talked about trivial things. Then after a while she got a tape recorder from her bag, and a notebook, and a pile of papers and we began. One of the things she'd brought was a map of southern Bavaria. We looked at this although my old eyes didn't see very much, but I gave the names and her sharp young eyes and roving finger with its pink painted nail found the places. I began,

"It's a very hilly place. Part of the northern foothills of the Alps, and there are steep valleys and lots of pine forests, and tumbling rivers, fast flowing. If you think of a typical Bavarian postcard view of little churches with onion domes and half timbered gingerbread houses, fields sloping down to rivers with fat black and white cows in them – in the distance hills and woods – well that is Oberstdorf, a very pretty place. In those days the girls all had rosy cheeks and yellow pigtails and the men wore _lederhosen_, no it really was like that. Less so today I would imagine. I was born Luisa Weismann, 20th November, 1917."

With a gasp Shizuku interrupted, "But that's my birthday! I will be seventeen this November. That's weird!"

"Well, yes that is strange, but you know I have read books that say that in a given group you'd only need about fifteen people before you found two who had the same birthday. That's strange isn't it, but quite true, so I'm told. Anyway, where were we? Yes, there it is on the map. Oberstdorf. Oh, look, all those woodlands up on the hill behind the town, you see them on the map? That was the Erdingerwald. We would play there, make dens, feed squirrels and climb trees. Those pine trees were perfect for climbing, straight trunks and branches out every foot or so that made a perfect ladder. I don't recall much of my early childhood because it always seemed to be a time of worry, the war had ended and there was never enough money, my father Leopold had many different jobs and was away a lot. My mother, Waltrun worked at home as a seamstress. Waltrun is a very strange name isn't it? You just don't get people called by such old fashioned names any more. She would take in work from other families, people much better off than us and she'd make up clothes or bedding or do repairs. She worked very hard and I would sometimes wake in the evening and hear her crying. I don't know why but she seemed to work herself to death some weeks."

"When I was fifteen I recall being sent away to relatives, I think there was so little money that mother and father couldn't feed us, me and my two baby brothers, Anton and Dieter. Poor Dieter, he didn't live long. But with the hardships we went through in the early years of his short life, perhaps he was the lucky one. I don't think I was sent far away but it was to an aunt a couple of towns away. There was a big river and a long stone arched bridge that had motor cars always crossing it. It began with an 'S', it wasn't far north of Oberstdorf. What did you say? Schollang? No that wasn't it. Sigiswang? No, there was a soft sound to the name, the river was quite wide. Sonthofen! Yes, that was it! Sonthofen, how could I ever forget? I'm not even sure if the lady I lived with was a real aunt, but she had a son called Falko and he was very nice. He was about twenty I suppose and he loved to tinker with machinery, he always seemed to have some contraption in pieces in the barn and would work on it all night by the light of hurricane lamps, he'd strip things down and put them back together and end up cross and covered in oil and with a box of small parts left over. He was so full of energy and determination. He'd go right ahead and strip the whole thing down again and start over. He'd keep going until there were no little parts left and then he'd stand up and stretch with his hands in the small of his back and say _Ah, so that's how it goes!_ _That's how it goes…_ Whenever I hear that phrase spoken in German I remember him. I can hear his voice now… I remember he once got hold of an old car, I've no idea what make it was but it was a bit of a mess. But he rebuilt the whole thing and one Saturday afternoon… Hm, I think it must have been when I was about seventeen, when would that have been? 1934? Yes I remember. I was sat on a bale of hay watching him as I used to do and he stood up, a big smile and a grease stain on his face. He made some final adjustments and called me over, and sat me in the drivers seat. He moved some levers and then told me to hold one lever one way and another the other way. He went to the front of the car and wound it up with a big metal handle, it was like winding up a clock. Ha, ha, at first nothing happened except that he got cross and cut his finger, but then he found the right way to do it and there was a roar and a rumble and suddenly the car was running! I sat on it and it felt like sitting on a horse. It was alive! It made a funny shaking or wiggling motion. Like it had muscles inside and was preparing to trot! He climbed up and got me to slide over and then he held this huge polished wooden wheel and fiddled with the levers and it moved! It was so exciting! We rolled out of the barn and went round and round the farmyard a few times and this car made these strange noises and smells. Then he turned it down the lane and we were off. We went into town past the shops and the church, past all these peoples faces made up only of wide eyes and open mouths. We seemed to go so fast! It wasn't like riding a horse or being in a cart, it was completely exhilarating, everything felt out of control. Oh, I was laughing so much! I think the car stopped the other side of the bridge and wouldn't go again. Some oil came out so he stopped the engine. Well eventually because he couldn't fix it, a friend in his horse and cart towed us back up the hill. I remember sitting with him in the car behind the wagon. He kissed me. The first time a boy had kissed me and I was seventeen. Oh, what a wonderful day that was. It's so funny how things have changed in not that many years really. Today you are sixteen and here you are thousands of miles away from home, without your parents around and flying by huge jet planes. It's so different now."

"I don't remember if that car ever worked again. But he took my photograph in it that afternoon. Yes, that's the one. Is this a copy from the one Anna has in the shop? Yes, that's it. Why, I look so serious! I don't know why, that wasn't at all a serious day."

"But then Falko decided to join the army. He went away to be a soldier. There seemed to be a lot of soldiers around town those days, marching and recruiting people and looking very smart and efficient in their lorries and with their horses and cannons. So when Falko came to say goodbye in his uniform he looked so smart and grown up. I was so proud of him. I didn't realize he was a Nazi and believed in the things Hitler was telling everyone. To me he was just a good man, clever and handsome. But he went to war some years later and I never saw him again. I have no idea what happened to him, he vanished, just like millions of others vanished. Probably in Russia somewhere, or in North Africa, or France perhaps, who knows? So many good people went away because of the war. So many good people had to die because of so few bad ones."

Then Shizuku asked me,

"What was his family name?"  
"Let me think," I answered, "I'm sure it will come. It was an unusual name, not your average one. Trommler that's it. Why do you need to know that?"  
"I can look up his name in the German army records, most of this information is on the internet now. They can tell me what happened to him."  
"Oh, well, I'm not sure I would want to know that now, it was long ago and I didn't know him for very long."  
"But you loved him. I can tell by the way you speak of him. You speak of him and remember little things about him the way I think about Seiji and recall the smallest things he does."  
"For one so young, Shizuku, you are very perceptive. You'd be good in politics."  
"Oh, no, I don't think so!"

She seemed quite upset at that idea.

"But really, child, it doesn't matter, he is long dead, I know it."

There were a few minutes of quiet, each of us thinking.

"Well if you don't mind, Shizuku, I think I would like to stop there for today, I'm quite tired and you don't want to hear me go on about irrelevant things like that. Why don't you tell me your news?"

I looked at her and saw that she was crying.

"What on earth is the matter child? Why are you crying?"  
"It's because of the war. So many sad stories. I remember last year when we were here, Seiji mentioned it, it makes him angry too."  
"Why on earth should the war upset Seiji? He's just a boy, it all happened years before he was born."  
"He said some of the finest violins in the world were destroyed in the war, beautiful instruments that were 300 years old, so it affects everybody doesn't it? For years and years afterwards. You and grandpa had to separate. If it hadn't been for the war you could have stayed together."  
"But where would that have led us, Shizuku, hm? If Shirou hadn't gone back to Japan he would never have married there and his daughter would never have had a son called Seiji, would she? And so where would you be now? Do you see?"  
"With someone else perhaps, probably just as happy. Or maybe still sat in my bedroom reading books."  
"But you would much rather be happy with Seiji wouldn't you?"  
"How can I know? It's like an alternative universe."  
"But do you see? Everything is joined together. Yes Shirou left me and that was sad, but as a consequence of that Seiji was born, and so he has you. That makes up for it I think. Yes, that more than makes up for it. And what a lucky boy he is. So, now, that's quite enough of sad things and worrying about what was and what might have been, please tell me all your news."

At the end of that afternoon Shizuku asked me where it was that I met Shirou and what school were we at. I told her it was _Die Akademie der Bildenden Künste München. _That sounds a very grand name, it was the Munich Academy of Fine Arts. I was there from 1936 to 1939 and I met Shirou in the spring of 1938. She thanked me for this information and said she might have something interesting to show me the next time she came.

-oOo-

The second time she came Shirou's grandson came with her. I was reminded of Shirou the moment I saw him again, it was the way he stood, the way his shoulders curved, the way he would be so intense when he looked at you. There were parts of other people in there too but enough of his grandfather so that I felt strange when he was around, he distracted me. This day Shizuku brought with her a piece of paper with a very old map printed on it, it was our village as it was many years ago. She said it was from the 1930s but I had great trouble deciphering it. It seemed to be all squiggles and funny slanted writing to me. I asked where she had got this and again she said most information was at everyone's fingertips on the internet now. She said last night she'd gone to a café that allowed customers to pay to use their computers and she'd found this map within thirty minutes. She said she had other maps too, quite interesting ones and would show me in good time.

She also said she'd brought something to show me, something she thought I would find interesting. As well as her bag with the tape recorder and notebook in, she had with her a battered square metal case like a photographer's equipment case. It opened with a snap from its two metal hasps and there was a layer of foam packing inside. She lifted this out.

"Close your eyes," she'd said, there was something mischievous in her voice. I did so. For a moment there was silence, "Keep them closed. Alright, now, open them!"

They stood on the wooden table, side by side. I hardly recognized her, she was so different; the dress, the hat, but the face was the same. And of course he was completely unchanged. He looked exactly the same as the day I last saw him. That was when? I find it hard to recall so many things now, especially dates and names. It would have been mid summer, perhaps June. June 1939 when war was so obviously coming and he had to leave. But the Baron was the same, his coat and hat, his face. I remembered his face, on some days he would look cheerful and cheeky, on other days wistful and sad. He'd not changed a bit. Shirou must have taken great care of him. This doll must have meant so much to him. And all the time I was in Torino and then Cremona and I never tried to contact him, not once. What had I done? Why had I not tried to get in touch? It hurt to bring my hands up to my face, my wrists hurt today, so all I could do was lower my head and let the tears flow onto my lap. Shizuku stood up and was beside me, she put an arm on my shoulder. His grandson came close too and despite the pain it was him I reached out for. I took his hand and pressed my face to it. The tears wouldn't stop, the pain in my heart was so much more than in my wrists. I sobbed. I realized this must be healing, even though it didn't feel like I was being healed. This must be what it is like to face your guilt and accept it and be sorry, so sorry for things not done when you should have done them. I'm afraid to say that that afternoons meeting was a complete failure as far as Shizuku's information gathering was concerned. I was useless to her. It took ten or fifteen minutes for me to say sorry properly to Shirou that day. I must have frightened the two youngsters, I vaguely remember Shizuku running inside to bring Anton out and then I recall drinking a glass of water and taking one of my pills, the ones I take when the pain becomes too much to bear. And then I don't remember much at all, I didn't want to sleep that afternoon, I needed to endure this pain of atonement but those administering to me didn't know that. I am sometimes so angry to be so old and helpless. They decided I should sleep and so I slept. The next time Shizuku and Seiji visited she wisely left the dolls behind and I was once again almost normal and able to hold a proper conversation.

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18 December 2006

For author notes about chapter 7 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	9. Ch 8 Summer of 96 Pt3 Seiji

**Chapter Eight – Summer of '96, Part Three**

_Seiji – Cremona and Firenze – August 1996_

The afternoon at Busseto when Luisa had her breakdown left me wondering seriously if Shizuku was doing the right thing, raking up these memories for her. It was obvious how upset she was and she was so unwell, it just didn't seem fair. I said to her,

"Is this right?"  
"Today was a mistake, yes, but neither of us could have forseen it. She asked me to bring the dolls, Seiji, there's something she needs to work out you know."  
"But surely there comes a time when the people caring for very ill people need to make the decisions and protect them from hurt."  
"Would you like that to have happened to grandpa? If, say, he'd grown very old and very ill very slowly and become incapable of looking after his physical needs. Would you have been happy taking away his decision making?"

I looked at her eyes. They were a thousand miles deep and every fathom was love. She was doing it again.

"Yeah. You're right. But when her brother gave her the medicine and she fell asleep, that made me angry, it was like a zoo animal being sedated."  
"It happens Seiji, to some people when they get old. We can't judge her or her brother."

We were almost at the top of the street. It was a year later, the fountain came into view. Now we really were home. _I_ could feel it so I'm sure she could. We stopped at the edge of the piazza. As we stood there looking, two things happened. Shizuku shifted her old pink bag to the other shoulder and took my hand, then gave it one of her squeezes – I looked at her and winked. Then there was a shout.

"Hey! Zoo! Sage!"

We turned to the voice, we knew who it was. We started walking but Adamo covered the distance at a run. He stopped before us,

"Fantastico! You look great! It's so good to see you! Sage, hey, my man! And Zoo, my beautiful oriental angel!"

_Zoo? _I thought,_ Zoo? When had he cooked up that short name? It was quite nice. I wished I'd thought of it.  
_  
He came forward, clearly intending a hug but Shizuku carefully avoided it and they ended up just holding forearms. He moved his head forward for a kiss but she kept hers back. He ended by making what I now know is a traditional Italian greeting, the "air kiss" on either side of the other person's face. It was amusing to watch; his Latin temperament cooled by her Japanese reserve. I think she was careful too because I was there. Well I hope she would be careful even if I wasn't there. It's not that I was jealous, I have no fear, our love is too sure, but he was still very much a stranger and he did go over the top much of the time. He turned to me, grinning and shook my hand,

"It's great to see you both!"  
"Adamo, it's great to be back."

I stepped back a pace and gave him a deep formal bow. _Let's get this greeting thing back on track to the right level, hm? _

We stayed at the café for the rest of the afternoon, chatting about this and that. Adamo was really excited, he was going to start university at Firenze next month. These would be his last days working as a waiter here. He was realistic though, there'd probably have to be more waitering jobs while he was at university. _To make money so I can spend it on girls_, he'd said. He'd arranged to take us out that night, apparently he and Shizuku had planned this on the phone just after we arrived. There was a nightclub in Firenze that some of his friends knew well. Even though we were only sixteen he could get us in. Afterwards we would stay over at the apartment of one of his friends. It all sounded a bit suspicious to me but I decided to go along with it as Shizuku wanted to go. We ate at the café; we'd never been here this late in the day before, the square and its buildings took on a different atmosphere as the sun began to go down, more people came and the cafés filled with chatter and colour, it was quite different. A group of people came up, two boys and three girls. Adamo greeted them and introduced us, I just forget the names, Dio was one of the boys and one of the girls' names I later caught as 'Fully', I'm hopeless at remembering things like that. It was strange as they were so tall, so grown up. Shizuku and I were obviously the smallest because we were Japanese but being a couple of years younger put us at a disadvantage too, they all seemed so confident, so self assured, so adult. My natural shyness was coming out. Then Shizuku said she would go and change and went inside. I tried to chat to the Italians but decided I preferred to listen, to pick up on the language and watch how the girls interacted with the boys. It was fascinating, a whole different way of doing things. There was so much body contact all the time, the boys would touch the girls hands, arms, shoulders and the girls touched each other as well, it felt really strange to me. And the hands, I've not told you about the hands. Italians talk with their hands, they move them constantly, wave them about, make shapes with them, like writing in the air in front of them, like we would make shadow puppets. Italian is half sign language I think. Then the conversation abruptly tailed off, one of the girls pointed and the boys next to me turned round. I turned too, looked where they were looking to see what it was.

It was Shizuku. Or I think it was Shizuku. She had gone into the ladies toilet to change but someone amazing and different had come out. She was wearing a black dress. It was short and clingy with little straps at the shoulders and had a very low front. I mean _very_ low. Her hair was up again in the really cute way she'd done it at the Earth Shop and she had put makeup on, usually she never wears makeup. But tonight she did. The Italians stood up. One of the boys whistled and they all broke into spontaneous applause. She went bright pink and gave us all a bow. That just showed a lot more of her front and now I went pink as well. I went to her. I couldn't believe it, she looked two or three years older, so sophisticated and well, there's no denying it, she just looked sexy. Very, very sexy. I took her hands,

"Shizuku?"  
She smiled, "Who else did you expect?"  
"You look fantastic! You look… I can't believe it!"  
"Disarming, isn't it?"  
"What?"  
"When someone walks up to you and looks amazing. I'm getting you back for last year. Now we're even."  
"Wasn't aware it was a game."  
"Oh, it's not, I just felt like seeing your reaction."  
"Well, you look beautiful. Gorgeous," she smiled so sweetly, "I'm just… I'm just completely stunned. Why don't you look like this more often?"  
"Why don't you take me out more often?"  
"If you dress like that I will."  
"Deal then."  
"Good."  
"We're being watched."

She'd glanced past my shoulder at the others, I turned. All six of them stood, smiling, one of the boys made an enthusiastic thumbs up gesture with both hands. Adamo came forward.

"Sage, it's traditional that when the lady is dressed up and ready to go out, the man kisses her."  
"You just made that up."  
"Well, yes, but it's still a good idea don't you think?"  
"Um… I can't, not with all of you watching."  
"We won't look, we'll turn our backs. Promise," he was grinning. Did I believe him? Not for a moment.  
"No way, I feel like a goldfish in a bowl here!"  
"A real man would do it!" he retorted, "an _Italian_ would do it. Hey, if _you_ don't do it, I will."

Now he was getting annoying, suggesting I wasn't a man, well, what should I do? Damn it, was everything some kind of macho test with these Italian boys? Should I kiss her in front of them all and embarrass myself or not kiss her and still embarrass myself? When I thought about it like that – that whichever way it went, embarrassment would be the end result, but down one path I would get a kiss for my trouble, it seemed to me there was no real choice. It especially annoyed me that they gave Shizuku no choice. She was a person, not a doll; these boys seemed to have forgotten that. I turned to her again. She just stood there, looking at me so completely placidly, her hands in front of her holding a little black purse. She has this way sometimes of just… waiting. Existing patiently, it completely disarms me; she has such a gentle aspect to her. There was just the faintest smile on her face. I knew that smile. It said _well?_ As soon as she showed me that smile I knew she was happy with this; whether Adamo and his pheromone-soaked friends thought she was an object or not wasn't a concern for her.

We didn't touch at all. Well hardly at all. She put her hands on my upper arms so lightly I hardly felt them. I put mine on her waist but I didn't hold her, I just rested them there. Everything was in the kiss, we touched only with our mouths. The first sensation I had when we touched was how soft she was. I breathed in, her perfume filling my head, my senses. And then, well, the kiss just went places I have never been before with a kiss – we seemed to go _inside_ each other. I don't mean physically, I mean spiritually, I mean sensually. There was suddenly the most amazing and complete connection – yes, sure there were the usual muscles involved and the usual tastes and moisture but… I can hardly express it; we seemed to just be _one_ in ways that even when we've been alone together we've never been one like this before. I opened my eyes. Hers were less than two inches away and open as well. Always before, I'd closed my eyes, never kept them open, I don't know why. But with them open I discovered a whole new dimension to kissing. I could see her pupils changing like a camera shutter; they moved all the time, now more widely open, now closing a little. Her eyelids closed or opened a little constantly as emotion worked through her. And there were points of light or flecks of colour in her eyes, they moved like specks of dust in a sunbeam. I'd never seen this before. Open eyes brought us so _close._ The physical sensations of contact I experienced in those few moments were far less than the spiritual sensations, it may have been only a single minute; I really have no idea, but it felt like longer. At one point, at the very peak of it before we broke apart it was like our hearts swapped and instead of her heart beating in her chest, mine was there instead giving life to her and hers was giving life to me. It was one of the strangest, most powerful and most moving sensations I've ever had.

There was a noise. I could hear it building up around me. People speaking. No, _chanting_. The kiss ended. I ended it. It was too much. This wasn't the place to be like this with her. As we parted I felt as though part of me went with her, it was a longing, a hope, a need not to be apart from her. The chanting was louder. It wasn't just our friends chanting and clapping and stamping their feet, but the whole café it seemed. Everyone was on their feet, all around us clapping slowly and rhythmically, stamping their feet in time and saying _hey, hey, hey, hey, hey_ louder and louder, faster and faster. When we broke apart the whole café went wild, cheers, yells and whistles, the boys slapped me on the back and Shizuku disappeared under a pile of hugs from the three girls. She emerged beaming. I suppose I must have done the same.

Adamo grabbed my right hand and held it aloft in a racing drivers victory salute.

"Ladies and gentlemen! My friends! Quiet please, quiet. Quiet now… No, come on, let's have a little quiet here… I want you to say hello to my good friends from Japan, Sage – or rather Seiji - and," he reached for her and pulled us together, "Shizuku. Please. Now, please. Be honest, speak the truth, we are all friends here – was that, or was that not, a great kiss?"

The place exploded in uproar; catcalls, screams and more whistling. Shizuku held me tight, she was giggling. I hugged her hard.

"You OK?" I had no idea if she liked all this, it was pretty outrageous behaviour for us.  
"Brilliant! Aren't they funny people? So welcoming!"  
"Was that alright with you?"  
"What? Are you joking? I loved it. Seiji, that was simply an amazing kiss. Didn't you feel something special? Come on, let's really enjoy tonight."

And we did.

The eight of us walked across town to the station, caught a train south to Firenze and then made our way to a bar through streets I didn't know, although Firenze is similar in many ways to Cremona, of a similar age and origin and atmosphere. Although I think it's a little more fashionable, sophisticated. The people of Firenze are that bit more stylish. As we walked we split into two groups, the girls ahead and us four boys behind. The boys chatted about university and then sport, football mostly. Dio wanted to be a footballer. He already played in a local team but was trying to get noticed at national level. Then he asked me what I wanted to do. When I told them I wanted to make violins I thought they might make fun of me but instead they stopped their chatter and became interested.

"Hey, violin making is really classy, you have to be very good to open a violin making business in Cremona. It takes years to be good enough, not like football."  
"Yes, I know."  
"Are you any good?"  
"Well I do my best, one day I hope to be good."  
"Have you made many?"  
"Ten."  
"Wow! You're sixteen and you've already made _ten_ violins?"  
"They're not very good ones yet."  
"But that's a lot of experience. There's a lot of subtle technique involving materials and methods involved."  
"So I'm finding out."  
"Where are you learning? In Japan?"  
"I have been. My grandpa is… was, a violin maker and he taught me. But very soon I plan to stay in Italy and learn a lot more."

I found I had mentioned grandpa in the past tense, and there was no hurt in my heart. I was encouraged by that. I went on,

"Do you know a man called Signore Guarnieri?"  
"Adriano Guarnieri? You mean _the_ Adriano Guarnieri?"  
"Yes, that's him."  
"Seiji, do you know who he is? He's the best living violin maker in Cremona. And that means in the world!"  
"Well I know he's good, he was a great friend of my grandpa, that's how I got to know him. He has invited me to be his apprentice. It'll take ten years. I plan to live here for ten years and learn everything from him. What's the matter?"

The other three boys had stopped, I had walked on and was several paces in front of them. Dio spoke,

"Wait, you said you are going to be the apprentice to Adriano Guarnieri for ten years? Shit! Do you know what that's like?"  
"Not really. I mean I know he's a really good artisan and I'll have to work very hard, long hours."  
"Shit, Seiji, that's like training to be a footballer and having Pélé as your personal coach for ten years!"  
"Pélé? The Brazilian?"  
"Absolutely, possibly the finest footballer who's ever lived. Damn, how the hell did you manage that?"  
"I don't know. I came to Italy to learn from him for two months when I was fourteen and then I came again for another month last year when I was fifteen. I guess I owe the connection with him to my grandpa."  
"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute!", Dio looked stunned, "you first worked in Guarnieri's school when you were _fourteen_?"  
"Uh-huh, right."  
"Shit, Seiji, that is so cool. You must be the luckiest guy on earth."  
"Why? I know he's good and his family go way back over many generations, but there are other violin masters in Cremona just as good."

The girls had stopped a little way ahead, were looking back at us, Adamo chipped in,

"Name one."

I thought hard. Well I could name several but I didn't know of one who was quite as well known or came from quite such an old family,

"…Er…"  
"You see? You can't"  
Dio again – "Seiji, unless you screw up big time and find out you have five thumbs or something you have it made my man. You are so cool. Well, maybe not as cool as Barese or Rossi but still, you are da man, and violin making is such a classy business. Big money if you do it right."  
"I'm not really interested in the money."  
"Fuck, man, everyone's interested in the money."

I stared at him quite calmly and very seriously,

"Not everyone, Dio."

He stared back at me. He had very intense black eyes,

"Well, maybe not everyone then,"

And he nodded, a very small nod, just once and that nod said _respect_. And that made me feel so welcome here, for these older boys, these men, whose aspirations were so unlike my own, to accept me like that meant a lot. The third boy whose name, I'm sorry, but I just can't remember said,

"And your girlfriend is stunning. Will you marry her?"  
"Of course, very soon. Probably as soon as we finish school, when we are eighteen. And then we plan to come back to Cremona and live here while I work my apprenticeship."  
"Damn, that's so chilled out that you have everything planned like this."  
"Well, the plan does go through a few modifications now and again."  
"Even so, Seiji, it's just way cool to be in control of your future,"  
"Well, I wouldn't say that."  
"Ah, you're way too modest."

We walked on. I stuck my hands in my pockets and kept quiet while the older boys chatted, their talk soon came round to girls again. Or more specifically, girls bosoms. But I felt good, it was good to have people to lift you up. Shizuku and I ought to make a point of holding onto friendships when we came out here, I think we would need them.

In front of us the four girls were waiting. We watched them as we caught up. Dio and the other boy whose name I couldn't remember made some really coarse comparisons between their respective girlfriend's bodies. I was embarrassed, these boys talked on a different level completely, to the people in Japan I grew up with. I found it a little offensive. How could a boy love a girl and yet treat her like an object? I thought about this a while and decided that it wasn't possible. Therefore these boys didn't love these girls. They had already decided that they were just temporary companions; someone to have fun with and go to bed with and when they got bored with them to move on elsewhere. That whole process seemed repugnant to me. If you share your body with a girl it's the greatest gift you can give, you don't jump out of bed and give yourself to someone else a few weeks later. And if love wasn't involved then three quarters of the sharing experience just wasn't there. It was like servicing a car to keep it in good running order on the road, it was mechanical, not emotional. This was a social set up I just didn't understand. I'd not picked up on the girls' names either but I later spoke with them and found out that one of them, Fulvia or _Fully_ as she seemed to get called was the leader of the trio. She turned and called back to us,

"Alright back there, boys?"  
"Yes," I replied, "We're fine back here."  
"I'm sure you are," she grinned, "just you make sure you're watching the right ass."

I blushed. Adamo chuckled. We closed up with them. I looked at Shizuku. She was, I thought, easily the prettiest among them, at least to my taste. The three Italian girls were just a little too over the top for me, too blousy, too full of themselves, too much _in your face_, is the English phrase I'd picked up. Then I noticed Shizuku was wearing high heeled shoes. A black pair. They were new as well. What sort of girl was she turning into? I wasn't complaining exactly, she looked beautiful, but this just wasn't the usual her at all.

When we got to the bar the six Italians seemed to need to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible. I spoke to Shizuku,

"We aren't going to drink alcohol, right?"  
"No, I don't want to. We're in a strange city with people we don't know that well, so let's be careful. I'll have an orange juice and lemonade."

I couldn't think what to drink so the two of us stayed on that the whole night. It was really funny watching the few inhibitions the Italians started with dropping away and they got sillier and happier and noisier as the evening went on. I felt a buzz from the group. I felt as though I too was drunk, not on alcohol but on the atmosphere they created. Shizuku stayed close to me all the time, often she seemed to need to touch my arm, or my hand or slip her arm in mine. I think she needed contact in a new situation. I was glad she did because I did too, I was responsible for her here so I needed to stay with it and alert. But it was fun, it was a good evening.

But things were to get a lot more fun as the night went on.

-oOo-

It got very late, it was about eleven when Adamo said it was time to move on. This was my bedtime back home but the Italians just seemed to be getting started. We walked along cobbled streets in the old city with happy night people all around us. Everyone seemed to be either young and drunk or very well dressed, very smart middle aged couples out from theatres, restaurants or concerts. It was an interesting mixture. A few street performers were still around as well and the place buzzed. It was great.

The nightclub was called EPUACAUS. I don't know what that meant. It sounded like a Greek god or hero perhaps. But the place was a total assault on the senses. It was down in a basement and it might have once been a wine storage cellar. It was all built of brick with a vaulted ceiling and arched walls. There was a bar along one wall and a wide clear space at the far end where a DJ had his decks set up. There were lights and a smoke machine and noise. Lots of noise. The place was heaving – packed with teenagers or people in their twenties all squashed together drinking, dancing and yelling. It was so loud you had to shout right beside someone's ear to get them to hear you. But the music was really ace. It was a mix of pop and techno and the DJ really knew what he was doing. Actually there were two of them doing the mixing and they worked great together. I listen to a lot of techno and house and garage and these guys were good. I got us some drinks, one bottle of orange juice and one of lemonade, we swapped gulps alternately. It worked, kind of and maintained an intimacy otherwise impossible in this place. A shouted conversation followed,

"HOLD YOUR BOTTLE ALL THE TIME. DON'T PUT IT DOWN AND KEEP YOUR THUMB OVER THE NECK."  
"WHY?"  
"DRUGS. SOMEONE COULD SEE YOU, DECIDE TO TAKE ADVANTAGE AND DROP A PILL IN YOUR DRINK."  
"DOES THAT HAPPEN?"  
"IT DID IN TOKYO LAST MONTH. A GIRL WAS RAPED WHEN SHE PASSED OUT IN A CLUB AND SOME GUYS TOOK HER HOME IN A TAXI – ONLY IT WASN'T HOME AND IT WASN'T A TAXI. PLEASE – YEAH? DO THIS FOR ME."  
"THAT'S SCARY."  
"YES. BUT DON'T LET IT SPOIL YOUR EVENING, I HAVE MY EYE ON YOU ALL THE TIME."  
"I NOTICED," she smiled,  
"IF YOU PUT YOUR BOTTLE DOWN, NEVER DRINK FROM IT AGAIN. GET ANOTHER DRINK, RIGHT?"  
"SURE."  
"AND IF YOU NEED THE BATHROOM, OR GO TO THE BAR, LET SOMEONE KNOW YOU ARE GOING. PREFERABLY ME – I'LL DO THE SAME."  
"STOP WORRYING SO MUCH!"  
"I DON'T WANT ANYTHING TO HAPPEN TO YOU. REALLY I DON'T."  
"uv… u."  
"WHAT?" I hadn't caught that one, she came close and pressed her mouth to my ear, I felt her breath on my skin,  
"I SAID – _**I LOVE YOU!**_"

Was there an answer to that one? Yes, but this wasn't the time to give it. I put my hands either side of her face, held her, and kissed her.

The group had moved away from the bar and we found a space and stood in a tight cluster, a few yelled conversations were attempted but it quickly dawned on me that people hadn't come here for the conversation. They were here for one thing. Dancing. The three Italian girls began at once. I watched. At first things were a bit hesitant and rusty, like unoiled machinery running in but after a while their movements took on a certain liquidity, a certain fluidity. None of them was wearing very much and I'd realized why when we'd walked in – the place was hot. Steaming. Sure there was air-con running but the sheer number of hot active bodies overcame that. I watched the girls for a while. There was no denying how attractive a girl is when she moves like this, even if it's a very simple dance but these girls were pretty good, they knew some very nice moves. The urge to move was very strong, you couldn't keep still. It struck me that apart from a couple of end of year school dances, I had never danced with Shizuku. Those times had been pretty basic, the school gym with dimmed lighting and a band from the senior year playing J-Pop were hardly the place to transport you to great inspired moves. We'd done the usual teen jiggling on the spot stuff, fun but hardly original. She was doing a little move, mostly from the hips and ankles, she was very cute, but I had no idea how she'd react if I did my stuff.

I had never had many friends, not good close ones anyway. The pressure dad put me under to study hard and the time I spent making violins took up much of my spare time but I had, for some reason, made good friends with a couple of guys who were into the robot dance scene, that stuff where you move like a machine or an android. It was fairly free-form stuff and many people tried it but only a few could do it well. I recall the day I got into it exactly. The two of them were messing about in a classroom one break with a stereo playing this stuff and taking turns to do some moves. As each one passed the turn to his friend he'd touch him with a finger, to the head or the shoulder or the spine and the other would come to life like a robot starting up after being given a power boost. When the dancer passed the power connection to his friend he'd just stop and freeze in place until he received the power back. It looked really neat and I stood and watched for a while. Having learned to be disciplined and picked up the basics of musical structure from playing the violin and also having listened to a fair bit of techno and electrofunk I could see that the methods were fairly simple, there was a limited library of moves but the freshness came from stringing them together in new ways and making your own themes up. Despite its machine like quality there was great self expression in it and I was hooked. I spoke to them about it and soaked up all I could, practicing at home in front of the mirror in my headphones. Jiro, Takaya and I did a few clubs and we got pretty good. Then studies got in the way as they inevitably do and we met up less and less. I kept up the practice for a while but the violin making really had to take first priority, oh and of course so did a girl. So I hadn't done it much recently. But tonight I felt I could be persuaded, the atmosphere in here was quite something, you just _needed_ to move, everyone else was. The three boys had joined their girlfriends now and only Shizuku and I weren't dancing. I looked at her, well in fact it was only me not dancing because she was moving too in a gentle but very interesting way. With that sort of inspiration there was just no way to keep still. I switched on. First a simple move. Lift the bottle raise thumb, drink, drain bottle swing round, place on table, swing back, turn on imaginary switches on the neck, check circuits and joints. And. Go. I began to move around her in a fairly simple slide routine. From time to time stopping to check her position and her face. It was like riding a bicycle, you may not do it for years but you never forget. How good you were depended very much on the atmosphere and feedback from people around you. Then suddenly one of the DJs began mixing a Rammstein track, really hard heavy stuff with a beat that pounded like gunfire and I was just gone. The adrenaline hose was turned on and I became alive. The jerky robotic moves and the foot slides were so easy, and so much fun. How could I _not_ have done this for so long? It was great. Worryingly there was suddenly a space around me and I saw some of the Italians watching. So, well, what the hell? I went for it. I don't know how long that track lasted but after a while I decided to power down and go human again. Shizuku was in front of me. The face she wore was worth all the waiting and the sweating. She stared at me with a look of amazement and pleasure, she came close,

"SEIJI! WHAT WAS THAT?" I grinned, "YOU NEVER TOLD ME YOU COULD DO THAT!"

Beside her Adamo, Dio and the others were clapping, _**MORE!**_ was the silent shout on their lips.

That evening was such fun. We were in the club until past two in the morning. I did more robot work and worked up a good sweat, it felt so good to throw off the worries and stresses of things and totally relax for a few hours. But as no-one else could do it I eventually replaced it with stuff I was less good at, just average party dancing. But that was fun too, because I could dance with her. We were together and the room may as well have been empty, all that existed was her face, her body, her moves and my own muscles, my own weight. And the music. She was completely gorgeous and completely inspiring. We just had to do this more often, why hadn't I asked her to clubs before? What a jerk! Towards the end of the night _Love Shack_ by the B52s came on and the place went mental. She moved so well, everyone was dripping and it was a real place of animal senses and instincts, I could see rivulets of her sweat running down her front and that just drove me on. After the B52s things slowed down a little and we fell together, held each other and danced slow.

-oOo-

I won't bore you with recounting the rest of that night in any detail. We all staggered home, several girl/boy pairs at intervals down the pavement. One couple split off and went their own way home and six of us, after a walk that seemed like miles, reached Dio's student apartment. It was small and not very clean, a boy student lived here alone you know. We drank tea and then crashed out. Dio and his girlfriend in the only bed, Adamo and _his_ girlfriend in the lounge. Shizuku and I under a couple of duvets on the only clear space of floor left that wasn't a bathroom or a corridor: under the table in the kitchen diner. We put one duvet on the floor, another over us, threw off our clothes, crawled in and naked in each others arms were asleep in minutes. As the fog of sleep crept around me and I began to drift I realized this was the first time she and I had slept together when – well, when all we had done was sleep. And that felt good, it felt like a new milestone, a new maturity in our relationship. Then sleep came and I didn't care any more.

There was one highlight of that walk home. We went over the _Ponte del Vecchio _probably Firenze's most famous landmark with it's three arches and it's _botteghe_ or hanging shops. In the middle of the bridge there is a famous ritual that lovers do. There's a hatchway down to a service walkway within the structure of the bridge and this hatchway is protected by a wire grill or cage. This cage has hundreds and hundreds of padlocks attached to its bars, some obviously very old. Shizuku said she'd read about this in her book about European culture. The girl attaches a padlock to one of the bars and gives her lover the key. The idea is that when they marry, and preferably on their wedding night before they go to bed, they return to the bridge and the boy unlocks the girls padlock. As you can work out for yourself there is some sexual symbolism in there and it started, apparently as a fertility ritual. However over the years this custom has been used by couples to declare their love and to promise they'll stay together and come back one day. After she had told me this beautiful story I wasn't surprised at all to watch her get a red padlock from her purse, lock it to one of the bars and offer me her key, on the palm of her hand.

"When we are married," she said, "bring me back here and unlock my padlock."

She wasn't saying this in a rude way, I know that. She said it with such love and sweetness that her words alone were enough to make me commit to that. It was one of those moments that she was so good at contriving. I was struck again by how romantic a people the Italians are and what a romantic country they have made around them. They were a people I wanted to live among, a place I wanted to be.

I looked at some of the padlocks that were black with age and rust and wondered what stories they could tell. I suppose kids had come here and made promises in their first days and weeks of passion, promises they could not keep; the forces of the world had pulled them apart, never to return. The boys would never come back to unlock their girls padlocks, whether symbolically or actually. How many sad stories must there be repeated like this all over the world? Hundreds, thousands, millions. Year after year. It broke my heart to just think about it.

I made two promises that night. One to myself that I would remain true to the person stood beside me, no matter what we might go through, no matter what forces might try to pull us apart.

And then I promised her I would bring her back here. And with that second promise I took the key from her open palm and laid a kiss in its place.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

19 - 22 December 2006

For author notes about chapter 8 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	10. Ch 9 Summer of 96 Pt4 Shizuku

**Chapter Nine – Summer of '96, Part Four **

_Shizuku – Busseto – August 1996 _

Our week was almost over. When we had been here last year the feeling of things ending had permeated the last few days of our stay but this time we had been here only a week and we had packed in so much that we almost didn't see the last day coming. I think we were so busy there wasn't time for introspection. But the last afternoon, that Friday we spent with Luisa, that turned out to be such a memorable afternoon. It was special, for all three of us. From it we each took away something of our own. I think recalling her time before the war, and during and after the war was a therapy for Luisa. I found out something beautiful about Seiji. I found out that not only could he _not_ play the violin (according to him) but (again according to him) he couldn't make good violins either. Or write music. And, as usual, everyone who heard his written work disagreed with that judgment, just as they disagreed with his opinions about how well he could play. You'll understand more of that when I tell you what happened. And Seiji? Well he finally let us all know that he thought he _could_, after all, play the violin. And write music. And make them. And seeing those revelations light up his beautiful face was for me the finest moment of that whole year. Does that sound confusing? Of course, but you'll understand when I tell you what happened. It was odd but also right that we had hardly seen Anna-Marie this week. We'd gone to the art shop and talked and on another day had lunch with her but it was as if she had now been sidelined as an unimportant bit-part character in the story of her mother. Luisa had assumed centre stage, a great diva come to take her final bow. For the two of us.

That Friday was so hot. I wore just a thin blouse and skirt and I recall Seiji wore just a short sleeved baggy shirt and shorts, and a baseball cap to shade his eyes. Yes, I remember the baseball cap. Any more clothing was too much. I took my bag with the tape recorder and my papers and he took his violin. This wasn't one of his own, he refused to play those except when he was alone, but his grandpa's one, the one he'd played for me in the workshop on the 6th of September 1994. This instrument meant a great deal to him, not only because of that evening but because, along with the cello, it was one of only two possessions of his grandpa's he'd kept. Well, that's what I'd always thought, until today.

It was quite difficult interviewing Luisa, she knew little English and so she spoke mostly in Italian. My Italian was improving and I could pick up quite a lot of what she said but fortunately the tape recorder picked up everything and I was able to make a full romaji transcription when I got home.

Luisa was much more composed today, and there was never again any problem when we mentioned the dolls. Whatever demons had arisen the day she cried, she had faced them and dealt with them, and we spoke of the dolls no more in that way. At first Seiji sat with us and listened, rather too politely I thought. I could see he wasn't interested in this, this was my private obsession and as of yet I'd not invited him in. After a while he took a glass of lemonade and strolled around the garden in the sunshine. As we sat under the shade of the vine and talked I would catch sight of him walking slowly among the flower beds, down the winding paths. I could see Luisa watching him too, her eyes would slide to him as she spoke about the past and I knew his presence distracted her. And of the past? What can I say? Luisa that afternoon opened the door to it and invited me there.

"_Die Akademie der Bildenden Künste München, _September 1936. I studied painting, in oils. I did become quite good I think, well, good enough that Anton keeps a few of my pictures in the house. You'll have come past two of them in the hallway, the village scenes. Anna even sold one once in her shop. It didn't go for much but one day, you never know, it might be worth something, eh? What have you got there? Another photograph? Oh, yes, look at that. That's just how I remember it. That was the main administration building, the student library was _there_ and the restaurant and of course the bar. On the ground floor, at that end. Well, we were young in those days and more than a little bit crazy you know. We spent a lot of time in that bar. There was also a park by the river, it wasn't far from the campus. There was a little café in the park, by the lake. That was where I met him in the spring of 1938."

"I was with some girl friends, we were talking about Monet and Degas I think, all very boring academic things that students who take themselves much too seriously talk about. Monet painted some beautiful park and river scenes in Paris and we were sat there by the lake comparing the scene to his compositions, just looking at people walking by. One of my friends said _what about that fellow, he'd make an interesting background figure, look how lost he seems, he's got a map. _I looked up at this funny little young man, he was like a midget, a miniature person. He had on a brown suit and a brown trilby hat and he looked very serious. He was clearly lost. He came toward us. I could see he was going to ask directions. My friends panicked - they didn't want to speak to this funny little fellow so I stood up. I was taller than him. And as he approached I saw the colour of his skin and the shape of his eyes. I'd never seen a Japanese person before. His face was so strange, but I found it interesting as well, so different. I can't recall what he said, and I can't recall my answer, you never can, can you? I think he needed directions to the campus but as his German was so poor and I spoke no Japanese I ended up taking him there. We managed to communicate with some words and gestures and he pointed to his map and when we got there he was so grateful he insisted on taking me into the bar and buying me a drink. Milk. He bought me a glass of milk. How funny that seems, can you imagine a boy today meeting a girl and the first drink he buys her is milk! There are some days even now when I taste fresh ice cold milk and I am taken back to that day."

"Shirou was quite a serious person, of course people often are when they meet strangers. But what struck me about him was he was such a polite person as well, such a gentleman. I think that was the difference between Japanese and Germans in those days. I think that might still be true today, the Japanese are so much more polite. Everyone else on campus was German and happy-go-lucky and boisterous – we were young and thought ourselves immortal, almost no-one cared about the possibility of war even though some could see it distantly on the horizon, approaching like rain. Shirou was also very calm and did things at a different pace to everyone else. Slower. Maybe that too was because he was in a foreign country and wasn't sure of himself. But we met on other days and gradually I came to like him, I wouldn't ever say it was love at that stage, but we did seem to find a lot in common. He was studying woodcarving, he worked on woodblock illustrations and also some sculpture in wood. He painted a little too – watercolours. And was quite good with charcoal and pencil, he seemed to refuse to be bound to one thing, to one medium, he was always trying different things, broadening his horizons. But he never went into anything unprepared, he was very serious about study and preparation. Before he thought he was half way good at anything he'd spend a long time polishing his skill."

"Polishing?" I interrupted.  
"Yes, polishing. Is that the right word?"  
"Yes. Yes, it is. It's exactly the right word. Please go on."

_there's no need to rush now. Take your time and polish it. _

"Well of course you know what happened, we fell in love. It was inevitable really wasn't it? He was certainly a man worth loving, he had some fine qualities,"

_yes, fine qualities_, I thought

"What is that picture you have? Is that the café by the lake? Good heavens, so it is. Where did you get this – oh, don't tell me – that inter-thing. When was this taken? It looks an old photograph. Yes that's exactly how it was. It was a wooden building. Painted white. I always thought it should be on the end of a pier or something, or perhaps it was half bandstand and half greenhouse, a funny place, but we liked it there. We'd take our drawing pads there and some pencils and sit and sketch; each other, or the café staff or customers or the people strolling outside. That was a lovely summer, it seemed to go on for ever. And of course that was where we saw them."

_the dolls, this was where they met the dolls! Not in Oberstdorf or Sonthofen or the Arlberg region. Munich! I needed to go to Munich!_

"They stood on the café counter, the owner was a big round man and even though Shirou asked him several times, he would not sell them. Shirou would make up stories about them and tell them to me. He was so funny, and his German became very good. Well, summer ended and we went back to our studying and winter came and the next year. And this was 1939, the year everything went wrong. It seems such a waste now, we students spending all that time on trivial things like art, painting, sculpture, writing, music when the war would come and destroy it all."

"It doesn't. It can't. War doesn't destroy those things. People, yes, possessions, yes, but not art. That goes on, so it's always worth studying."

I'd hardly realized I'd interrupted but that thought had been something of a revelation for me just then. She looked at me. Her old wet eyes looked up from her lap where they had been fixed and they held me.

"Do you think so? Do you really believe that?"

I thought about it. Artists could die, artisans would die. Grandpa had died, but what had been left behind? I thought hard. Seiji. Seiji had been left behind. And he continued on, he would produce violins, more art. It wasn't just the things we did, the things we made with our hands, it was the people we influenced, who we taught. I had my answer,

"Yes, art lives beyond the artist, no matter who tries to destroy it. Luisa, the proof is standing over there."

She looked at Seiji. The boy took a sip of his lemonade, saw us looking at him and raised his glass in a salute. He was so young and carefree, his whole life ahead of him, a whole life in which to produce art. A life grandpa had influenced so strongly. She looked back at me.

"Hm, you see it too. I'm glad. Last year I suggested to him that he should play that violin of his. Now I'm not so sure. Perhaps it is better that he makes them, after all."  
"So war was coming?" I tried to steer her back.  
"Yes. I could talk for ages about how tragic that was but I won't, you don't want to listen to the rambling politics of an old woman. And of course he had to leave. It was the Japanese government. They knew what was happening, they contacted many foreign students and advised them to return home, so, always a boy of duty and respect, he obeyed. Possibly that was one of his few bad decisions, but it was made nonetheless and here we are now. There is a railway line from Munich to Zurich, the Arlbergerbahn. It's famous. It's a very pretty railway. It still runs today although I think mostly tourists use it now. It runs from Bavaria south and west through Austria to Switzerland. I think the Japanese government had advised their foreign students to travel back from certain points. Zurich being a neutral city was, I suppose one place they chose, I really don't know and I don't think it's important. I think Shirou joined up with many other Japanese students. I don't know the details of his journey home but he probably went by boat. I expect Zurich was merely a gathering place for a number of travelers."

"And the dolls?"

"Excuse me, please. I don't mean to interrupt."

Seiji came in from the garden. He went to his violin case and opened it, took out the instrument and his bow, and turned to go back into the garden,

"Sorry to disturb you."

"The dolls yes. Fate played a cruel trick. During the spring when we went to the café he noticed the Baroness was not there. He became so agitated, he thought she had been sold. But the café owner said, no, a customer had accidentally knocked her off the counter and she had been broken, so she was away to be repaired."  
"I don't suppose you remember where she had gone? To which repairer?" I had my heart in my mouth, would Luisa know? If I knew where she had gone to be repaired it was likely that it was the same place she was made. Luisa looked at me again. She gave me a sad smile,  
"No. I'm sorry, but he never said. So I don't know where she was made or healed."

_healed? Did she say healed? _

"But then we – or rather he – had this intense conversation with the café owner. His German had become very good over the year. In fact I think it may have been several conversations, since at first the café owner kept saying no. But in the end a deal was struck and Shirou bought the Baron. I think he was quite expensive. Shirou also gave me the money to pay for the Baroness when she was repaired."

_healed _

A note came, a violin. Seiji was out of sight across the lawn but we could hear him. He tuned up for a few moments then began to play. It was a gentle, classical tune I didn't know.

"And so the day came when he went."

There was a long pause. I've timed the pause on the tape with my watch. Forty-three seconds of silence. During the silence you can just very faintly hear his violin, just a few bars, playing that plaintive classical tune.

"I'm so sorry my child, but I would really rather not talk about it. It still hurts."  
"I understand. It's important to you but not to me. You keep that memory safe. I don't mind."  
"Yes you do, I'm being unhelpful."  
"No, really, please. It's not something I need to hear. I quite understand."

The violin ended. A pause and then it began again. Once more I didn't recognize the music but it was beautiful, a low, haunting gentle melody. His playing was distracting me.

"And that is all I can tell you, I think. The Baroness came back from being repaired,"

_healed _

"I paid for her and took her home and two weeks later, that would have been perhaps June or July, the soldiers came in the night. We left with just some essential things in bags. I so dearly wanted to take the Baroness. At one point I had her in my hand but father made me leave her. I actually had her in my hand…"

I looked at Luisa carefully, she was shaking her head,

"So she stayed in Germany while we went to Switzerland and then Italy. And she stayed there alone in the house while it was used as accommodation for soldiers and then the town was so badly damaged in the fighting and still she lay there in the ruins, in the rain, in the snow as each winter passed. And in the summer of 1945 my father, Leopold went back and may The Lord bless him, he found her and brought her to Torino."

Her voice sounded like she was crying but her eyes were dry. She was crying inside. She carried on. Across the garden the violin continued, my heart was being pulled two ways, to Luisa who was pouring such private memories out to me and also to him, I wanted to listen to him. I remembered Kita, Higashi, Minami, Nishi all quietly sitting listening to this boy. I smiled: this boy who if you asked him about his playing would quietly say he wasn't very good, that there were plenty of others as good as him. His playing was so sweet it was hurting me.

"But of course the move to Italy was a good thing. I met Rinaldo, we married and I was happy. I was probably happier then than I had ever been. Except perhaps in that car of Falco's that afternoon, and of course, in Munich in that never ending summer with _him. _But Rinaldo was a good man, he looked after me and he was successful in business. Anna-Marie was born and we had everything we could ask for. Of course sometimes I would think about those days before the war but with Rinaldo and Anna, I didn't want to go back and dig up the past. I made the assumption that the war had taken Shirou and that it was pointless to try and trace him."

The violin ended again and this time after a pause the tune restarted but in another key. I still didn't recognise it, but if he was trying another key then… what? Had he written it?

Luisa's hands were in her lap, clutched together in a tight ball. I switched the tape recorder off. I reached out my hands and held hers.

"Luisa. Please stop. You can stop now, I don't need to hear any more. Thank you. I so much appreciate you sharing this with me, and I'm sorry it has been so painful. I apologise for dragging it all up."  
"Shizuku, when you grow old, please promise me you won't be alone and longing for a boy you knew when you were young. A boy you let slip through your fingers."

She looked out into the garden, towards the sound of the violin.

"Don't let him go. If you let them go, Shizuku, they never come back. You only have one chance… Oh, listen to me, going on and on and on. You'd don't need to hear this."

_healing _

"Luisa, if it helps you then say it, say whatever you need to say in order to be healed."

_the doll was broken, and went away to be healed. And the Baron and Baroness dolls were never together again. _

_she was healed _

_cleansing  
_  
Once again the garden was silent. The violin playing stopped. Both of us waited, would he play more? Then the tune started a third time, he kept it in the lower key but this time with a slightly faster tempo. The tune ran on for a few bars and stopped, it seemed he didn't like that variation. The he restarted again. I had no idea if the microphone would pick up the instrument that far away but something made me set the tape recorder running again. This time Seiji slowed the tempo significantly and kept the lower key and now the tune became something wonderful, amazing and pure. It was slow, almost a dirge, a funeral song but there was great nobility in it; it was a tune to play at the end of a piece of great tragic theatre. _King Lear_ perhaps, or _Romeo and Juliet_. It hurt me to listen to it, it was so beautiful. I had no idea what it was. _Had_ he written this? I trembled when I even considered that, because it was so good, so powerful.

_Yes, that's it. Play it like that _

"Shizuku, I don't need to say any more, enough, I've said enough. But there is one thing. Young Shirou over there,"

_young Shirou? Was she alright? _

"he plays beautifully. I wonder, would it be possible that he could record some of his playing? And perhaps you could send me a cassette tape? I would find that so helpful."

_healing _

"Yes, yes, I'm sure we could do that."

_I wonder, would he? Now? _

I called to him, and Seiji stopped playing and came to the patio. I spoke to him and although it wasn't the way he liked to be, he agreed to play. I got a blank tape out of my bag and put it in the cassette recorder. Seiji helped me set up the microphone, he ran through a few test playings to find a good recording level. And after that… I think we might have sat there for almost an hour. Seiji played a number of pieces, he varied the mood and then the last piece was the slow noble tune he had been experimenting with earlier. Luisa and I sat utterly transfixed; every note was like a pin that held us to our seats. When he had finished he reached over and switched off the cassette recorder. We remained silent. It was Luisa who broke the spell,

"Shirou, why do you say you can't play?"

Seiji glanced at me, concern in his face. I could sense the question in his mind: _was she alright? _I nodded and gestured for him to answer.

"I didn't say I couldn't play. But there are lots of people who play as well as I do, I'm nothing special."  
"No Seiji," I interjected, "you are better than you say. I've heard you say precise things to me with that violin. Speaking and your mouth never opens. That isn't violin playing that many people can do."  
"You're embarrassing me."  
"Seiji, why won't you accept what people say to you about your playing? I've never heard anyone play the Hornpipe from Handel's Water Music, or _Ode to Joy_ from Beethoven's Ninth… or what was it you played the other week? Pachelbel? Vivaldi? all of those pieces _from memory,_ no music in front of them. Sometimes you make me cross. You're an extremely good violinist and I do get a little tired of your false modesty."  
"It's rude to be egotistical about your abilities."  
"But it's damaging to be so self-effacing when you shouldn't be. Seiji, just take due credit for your own worth. Stop being so shy and hesitant about what others might think of you. The number of times you've made me cry with that thing, or very nearly cry… You are a beautiful musician, you're very skilful, and I'd rather not hear you say otherwise, ever again. If people congratulate you, don't denigrate yourself. That is being rude to them as well, just give them your thanks and be upheld by their criticism, it's what you deserve."  
"Thanks. Appreciate it."

He stared at me, he was angry.

"Shirou?"

He turned to her with a sigh of impatience,

"Signora Baroni, its Seiji. I'm not Shirou, I'm sorry."  
"Yes. I know. I'm not senile," her voice was serene with patience.  
"But why…?"  
"Because I'm making a point, child. And you're still not seeing it are you?"  
"No, I'm not. Please forgive me for seeming stupid but please would you explain."

I glared at him, his tone was unfairly harsh.

"As an artist, Shirou was only so-so, he was average. Oh, yes I liked seeing him work but then I was in love with him. You see I was blinded. By love. Love does that to you, doesn't it?" she made the slightest pause, looking carefully at him, then went on, "He could play the violin too, but again, he was average. Enjoyable to listen to but, and I hate to hurt you - he _was_ only average. He did have wonderful talents but they lay elsewhere. When did you make your first violin?"  
"I'm sorry, I don't understand what has that to do with it?"  
"Please, child. How old were you?"  
"Nine. Ten when I'd finished it."  
"And was it any good?"  
"No, it was terrible."  
"Well Shirou was twenty when he made his first violin."  
"How do you know that?" he was still on the defensive.  
"Because I held it in my hands."

His eyes opened wide in surprise. Mine did too.

"Unfortunately, and this is one thing that really does upset me, we had to leave that behind in the house in Oberstdorf as well. And when father went back after the war it had gone. I expect some German soldier took it. But I doubt the thief got much pleasure from it as it really did sound odd, not right at all. Oh yes you could _play_ it, but it had no real depth to its sound, no character."  
"I had no idea grandpa had made a violin before the war."  
"Seiji, I'm not lying to you. Why would I do that? You don't think I would do that? For what purpose?"

Seiji looked strange, unbalanced, caught off his guard. I could tell he knew she was telling him the truth.

"So you see child, Shirou was not a great craftsman in everything he turned his hand to. He was never really a great maker of things. But it seems clear to me that later in life he found his true skill. He was a great restorer. Oh, and of course, he was an excellent teacher. Wasn't he?"  
"Yes." Seiji's eyes were far away.  
"He taught you to make violins didn't he?"  
"Yes."  
"And you loved him, hm?"

_where was she going with this? _

"Yes." I could detect that wavering in his voice again. Emotion.  
"You loved him and you were driven on by a desperate need to be as good at it as possible."  
"Yes. Where are you getting this from?"  
"That doesn't matter. Now look at me. Look right at me, it's important that you do because I want you to see my eyes and know I'm not deceiving you."

He looked up and held her gaze.

"That's good. Thank you. Now we can talk. So as well as doing your very best under his tuition you tried hard to be better than your best. I expect you needed books for that didn't you?"  
"Of course. Grandpa had some very good reference books in his workshop."  
"But not enough. You needed better ones in order to be as good as you needed to be. To be as good as you thought _he_ wanted you to be. To be as good as your love for him required. And to be better than you thought your father thought you _could_ be?"  
"Where did you hear this?"  
"It's true isn't it? Especially that last part. About your father. Isn't it Seiji?"

I was like a stone. I couldn't move. Where _had_ she picked up on all this? Was she some kind of witch or something? A hypnotist? Seiji was looking more and more uncomfortable.

"So. Not only are you a much better violin maker than your grandfather ever was, but you are a better player as well. Aren't you?"

Silence.

"Seiji, my dear child. It will only hurt once to admit it. After that you will be free. You will be free of his shadow. Come out into the sunshine where we can see you."

There were tears in his eyes. My heart ached. I wanted to hold him. I needed to hold him but Luisa's words held me in place. She was

_healing _

helping him. Something absolutely critical and vital was happening in front of my eyes. Seiji had put up barriers long ago. So high and so wide he'd forgotten they were his. In fact he'd forgotten they were even there. Now I could sense them and I could sense that he could sense them too. He'd realized the barriers were there, and that they were of his making. He'd been in denial for years. What I was struggling to come to terms with was how did Luisa know all this?

Then the tears came. Slowly at first and gently and down onto the grey stones of the patio. A small voice,

"Yes."  
"That's right Seiji, yes. Just let it out. In your own time, but you need to let it out."  
"I needed to learn. In order to escape."

Luisa looked at him carefully, without any anger in her face, with love.

"But I found that what I could learn from him wasn't enough. Enough to be good enough."  
"So the books, Seiji."  
"Yes, the books. I studied all the ones he had but I needed more. So I went…"  
"Where? Where did you go to get the better books you needed?"

_Oh, my God… _

"The library."  
"And you found the books you needed at the library didn't you?"  
"Yes, I did. And…"  
"And what? What else did you find at the library?"

_and then I knew _

He looked at me. His face when he looked at me then was so raw, so open, so defenceless, so human, so beautiful that at ten minutes past five on that Friday afternoon, in August, in Uncle Anton's garden, I fell in love with Seiji Amasawa all over again.

"You. Shizuku, I found you."  
"Oh, my God, Seiji…"  
"Shizuku."

I stood up, I don't remember doing so but I must have done because a moment later he was in my arms and I in his. We hugged like drowning people. We hugged so hard I couldn't imagine ever letting go. And then we kissed.

-oOo-

We sat around the table drinking lemonade, Luisa had a coffee, small and very strong as the Italians like to drink. Seiji had let it all out, let it all pour from him. This was the real hurt, the real pain, the real barrier, this was why he'd struggled to talk to me on the plane going home last year, this was why he'd been unable to let his grandpa go when we talked under the cherry blossoms. Because he had built his grandpa up into something he wasn't, simply out of love for him. Grandpa was his escape route from his father. His father wanted him to run the family company and in order to escape that fate he had learned to make and then play violins. In order to do _that _he needed his grandpa to be very good at teaching him. Grandpa was a great teacher, a superlative teacher, but he could only teach so much and this wasn't enough for Seiji. So he had taught himself. Seiji had _taught himself_ to be this good an artisan and this good a player, but he'd kept himself in denial because he needed his grandpa to be better than him in order to guarantee him an escape route away from his father. And while he was teaching himself, he saw a girl in the library and he fell in love with her.

Some people think that men who cry are weak. Like girls. Like little babies. But that afternoon when Seiji cried (and he cried so hard), his body heaved with his crying so much that I had to hold onto him with all my love. Well, I'm here to tell you that the strongest men cry the hardest because they are not afraid of exposing themselves and their worst fears to the harshest light. The light of their own denial. And that afternoon Seiji made a discovery so painful and so liberating that I quite forgave him his behaviour; to expose your fears like he did and cry like he did takes the strongest of all men. I forgave him not only his actions that afternoon, but all his actions that were a result of his self-denial for all the time I'd known him. He was set free that afternoon, and so I set him free in my heart also. I forgave him.

"So, Seiji, we never did get to the bottom of this did we?"  
"What Luisa, what?"  
"About how good or bad your first violin was."  
"Well, no we didn't."  
"Was it any good?"

We were sat at the table. He reached over and picked up the violin, his grandpa's violin. The one he played all the time, the one he'd played _Country Road_ on. The one he'd played _Ode to Joy_ on. And the one on which he'd played that beautiful mournful tune earlier in the garden. He made no comment but turned it over and handed it to me, body first. On the underside next to the padded chin rest I noticed a small brass plate pinned to the wood. Being his grandpa's instrument I'd never examined it closely before. I took it from him and looked at the plate. On it there were stamped four kanji characters, a location, a number and a date. The date was 10 May 1990, a numeral 1 was after that, the location was Tama, Tokyo and the name was Amasawa Seiji.

"So he gave it to you? Years ago?"  
"No, Shizuku."

I didn't get it. Call me intuitive some days but dense on others. I looked at Luisa. Her eyes were bright and intense. Whatever there was to get, she'd got it. She wasn't dense. He spoke more,

"Every violin, every violin of quality, needs to bear certain marks. The place it was made. A number sequence – the number of violins that artisan has made. The date it was made. And the maker."  
"But. This is your name. When you were ten?"

He looked at me with eyes that were clearer and more honest than I'd ever seen before.

"That's right Shizuku. Although actually I was nine, I just happened to put the plate on after my tenth birthday, because I was proud of being ten, it was a good number."  
"This is your violin?"

He nodded, "You finally got there."

"Your first violin?"

He smiled, a smile of great pride and satisfaction. I don't think he had ever shown pride and satisfaction before, but he showed it that day. It poured out of him, it set his face ablaze. I have to tell you, with those emotions on his face he was even more good looking.

"All those beautiful tunes? Were played… on this?"

Again he nodded, the smile got wider.

"Do you understand now?" he asked

Well, really, no. I mean I could grasp that this was a superb violin, its sound was intense, woody, deep and fruity; a beautiful sound. I could appreciate how proud he must be of it, and how good a violinist he was. And he was – fantastically good. Much better than I was at writing, for example. What I couldn't appreciate was what it must have been like to keep this hidden inside himself for six long years, denying his part in it, his skill, his ability in order to invest those qualities in his grandpa which he so badly needed to do in order to make a convoluted excuse to himself to escape from his father by elevating his grandpa onto a much higher pedestal than he deserved. It made my head hurt almost as much as my heart.

Then, and only then as I turned these thoughts over in my heart did I really understand why he had been so heartbroken when grandpa had died. In effect Seiji had died too. His self denial worked while he still had grandpa to hide behind, to give credit to, but after he died, Seiji was exposed. Not just to others but to himself.

So then I forgave him all over again for his crying. Really, it occurred to me, he'd not cried nearly enough.

"But in Venice. You told me your first violin was terrible."  
"I did tell you that, yes. And that is one of the hardest things I need to face. Do you forgive me?"  
"What for?"  
"Well while I was denying this to myself it was bad enough, I was only lying to myself. But in Venice I lied to you. And then it began to hurt a lot more."

This was our second hug that afternoon, our second kiss.

"Seiji, yes, of course I forgive you."

-oOo-

As we were preparing to leave, Luisa spoke again,

"I wasn't much help was I, in giving you information to track down the doll maker?"  
"Well, I think I have a lot to go on now. I will concentrate my search in Munich. There can't be many doll makers doing that kind of work in the 1930s."  
"Can't there? You don't know pre-war Germany. Dolls like this were very common then, they still are today in some parts of Germany, especially in the south."  
"Oh. Well, I'm good at research. I'll do my best."

She gave me one last smile. The very last she would give me,

"Look in his ear."

I looked at her, puzzled.

"I'm not going to say any more, Shizuku, just follow my advice. Oh, and Seiji, thank you for making that recording. I will treasure it always. Play well, child, play well."

We left, both of us deeply touched and changed by that afternoon and her healing powers. And we never saw her again.

-oOo-

We were on the bus on the way back to Cremona. Something had to be asked,

"That tune you were playing in the garden, and you played it again for the recording – the last one. What was it?"  
"Did you like it?"  
"Very much, it was very moving."  
"I'm not sure what to call it yet. But probably _A Song About Us_."  
"You wrote it then?"  
"Hm. I'm very pleased with it. It needs a little more work, but it's getting there."  
"It needs some words."  
"Yes. Well, I think that should be for you to think about. It's what you do best, after all."  
"Oh, Seiji! What a lovely idea. You'll have to play it for me a lot so I can feel how it scans and decide the shape of the verses."  
"I'd like that."

-oOo-

And that is all I think need be said about that amazing week. We went back to the Café Volpi that evening and said our goodbyes to Adamo, and the fountain. We swapped phone numbers, he said he'd call us when he got his student address in Firenze organized. Seiji asked for Dio's phone number, I think he got on quite well with the older boys the night we went dancing.

But something was puzzling me about that strange afternoon, something gnawing quietly away that wouldn't leave me alone – Seiji's first violin, it was just so well made, and yet I distinctly remember the evening I was at the Earth Shop, years ago, when I'd taken my first story to grandpa for him to read. He'd said how rough and unfinished that first violin was and how upset Seiji had been. Well, something was wrong there wasn't it? How did that fit with the instrument I'd seen this afternoon? There were no answers, perhaps they would come later.

And of course when we went back to the hotel it was our last night, the flight was next morning. And we didn't know when we'd be back in the Attic Room, we had no plans to return next year, and perhaps not even the year after that. So of course we made the most of it, we even had a bottle of Tony's Lambrusco. And I'm _not_ going to give you any details. Well, except to say that we didn't get much sleep, not until about four or five o'clock the next morning. If I could put a smiley emoticon in here I would, but I can't so you'll just have to use your imagination, won't you? We made up lost sleep next day on the plane.

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20 - 24 December 2006

For author notes about chapter 9 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	11. Ch 10 The End of the Beginning

**Chapter Ten – The End of the Beginning**

_Shizuku – Tama – April 1999_

I'm going to draw a merciful veil over 1997. It was a horrible year. School. School. School. SCHOOL. **_SCHOOL_**. Those five short sentences sum up 1997 for me perfectly.

Seiji and I made the most of it. We did go dancing, and I did dress up for him. And he began to teach me his strange but somehow attractive and compelling robot dance style. We should have done this years ago, it was such fun. Boy, did we laugh. And boy did we need laughter then. Some nights we'd take a cassette player up to our special place and practice under the stars. How innocent and distant those magical nights seem now.

Something that did help a little and which became almost a lifeline some nights were the pagers. The pager craze had hit Japan's youth some years before but Seiji and I were too young to be a part of it, however he managed to get two that were surplus to his father's company's needs. Maybe you don't know anything about the pager craze? It all fell out of favour when _keitai denwa_ or mobile phones came into use at around the time we discovered pagers, so we were a few years behind everyone else. All you could do with a pager was send a string of numerals, the original intent being to get the person paged to telephone that number. But Japanese youth, always keen to take a piece of technology and do new things with it used them for messaging. It was quite easy to set up a code that two or more people knew – a number could represent a single character or even a whole word or phrase, but some of the more clever ones made use of the fact that some western digits bore a slight resemblance to kanji characters. You could type 4-6-4-9 and that looked like _yo-ro-shi-ku_ so "hello" or "best regards". 3-3-4-1 became _sa-mi-shi-i_ ("I feel lonely") and one of our favourites which reminded us that we wanted to leave for Italy was 8-8-9-1-9 _ha-ya-ku-i-ku_ ("hurry up" or "let's go"). We also used a very common code: 1-4-3 which stood for "I love you" simply using the numbers of letters in each word in English. The standard response was 1-4-3-2 or "I love you too". If one of us was unable to accept a reply because we were studying or in cram classes we'd put a "0" on the end meaning "no", and a "1" meant "yes" so the other could reply. I also got Yuko and Sugimura to get pagers and it was a big help to be sitting at my desk in the evening grinding through homework to have my pager chime and Seiji send me a 1-4-3, or Yuko send a 4-6-4-9. Unless you've been there you can't know what a help it was.

I also concentrated hard on keeping in touch with a few people who were important to me, people who through their own hard efforts seemed to resist the crushing dullness of the education system. These people had a certain spark, a certain life, a certain ability to press on regardless and I love them so much for having this. There are not enough of us. Yuko and Sugimura were two of these bright shining stars and Seiji and I kept in touch with them with an almost desperate love, not as much as I would have liked but enough to send the important signal that we cared and that even though we would emigrate we wanted to stay good friends. Two years later when we were leaving Japan, we were invited around to Yuko's house. The four of us had a traditional sleepover, even though we were all nineteen now, we slept in sleeping bags on her bedroom floor, drinking the wrong drinks, eating the wrong food and in the morning we had a farewell breakfast. We gave them an open invitation. They could come to Cremona at any time and we would accommodate them.

Kinu was another girl I made an effort to keep in touch with. She hadn't had much luck with boys and was still single. I liked her, she was quite like me in so many ways, fond of books and poetry, music and drama. I made a mental note to be a good friend to her, despite the miles between us.

Michiko was a long way away at a high school that focused on sports, it was to the south in Miyazaki Prefecture. The last I heard of her she wanted to play tennis professionally. I lost touch with her soon after. We sent her an invitation to our wedding. She hasn't replied.

There was one highlight to 1997. Time was passing. Seiji turned seventeen in March and I eighteen in November. In March 1998 school would end and we focused on that, it was a moment we longed for. One day in winter I was reading a book in the school library. It was "Great Quotations of the Twentieth Century". In it I found a quote from Winston Churchill, the Prime Minister of England during the war. He gave a speech in London in November 1942 regarding a great victory in North Africa at a place called El Alamein (I'd never heard of it). He was describing the victory but warning that although this was a turning point in the war, there was still a long struggle yet to be faced. I'll read you the pertinent bit:

"Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning."

When I read that, this long dead British statesman spoke directly to me. His words summed up my life to that point. 1997 wasn't the end, but it was at least the end of something. My childhood had ended on the 22nd of August 1995 on a rainy evening in a Tokyo hospital. Now my school life was drawing to a close and a new phase would soon begin. Like Churchill I knew a long struggle lay ahead, but like him I also had confidence in final victory, no matter how far off it might seem.

I wrote his words out neatly on a piece of card and framed them. I put them on the wall above my desk. On many evenings when I was so frustrated with homework that I could cry, or perhaps unhappy with the circumstances that kept Seiji and I apart, I would read those words and take hope in them.

This morning when the preparations were finally completed and my attendant had finished dressing me in the beautiful hired _shiro-maku _kimono, finished my makeup and the magnificent tall decorated _bunkin-takashimada _hairstyle, I went into my bedroom and looked at that quote once more. It seems even truer today than ever. Dad came in.

"Shizuku, it's time. The car is here. Come."

I turned and left the room and went to marry him.

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20 - 21 December 2006

For author notes about chapter 10 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	12. Ch 11 8:8:9:1:9

**Chapter Eleven – 8-8-9-1-9  
**  
The year of the Tiger came in damp and grey, without apologies. Seiji and Shizuku demanded none; they didn't care anymore, for their purgatory was now numbered in weeks. January, then February, then it would be over. And then it _was_ over. The end of school. For ever. They enjoyed a fantastic end of year party, the seniors going particularly crazy and the evening dance was totally wild. Seiji blew the younger kids away with his robot dancing. So many goodbyes were said, some of them sad but in many cases Shizuku and Seiji both promised to keep in touch, making sure they had people's telephone numbers and addresses. The numbers of mobile phones - _keitai_ was growing, they agreed that they'd each get one when they could afford to. Shizuku had surprised herself, in a final last ditch stand she had worked hard over the winter and her grades were better than she deserved, considering the attitude she'd held towards her education in the last two years.

They celebrated his birthday on the 2nd of March with a meal at his house. This was something of an occasion for her, the last time she had stepped over this threshold had been at the funeral at the end of summer, two and a half years ago, as a confused and weepy fifteen year old who hardly had the first clue where she was going in her life, nor how to deal with the emotions that had broken her. Today however was a day of joy. Not only was he eighteen but his birthday was a double cause to celebrate because there was no more school.

She wasn't sure what to expect of this meal. In her eyes Seiji had built up his father into an ogre and she had no prior image to work from since, at the funeral, when she'd last seen him, she'd simply avoided him. She did find him rather a distant person, hard to talk to, but he was formal and polite and while he didn't exactly welcome her warmly he made no negative signs either, unlike his attitude when they'd met at the airport on their return from Italy the first time with Anna-Marie and Luisa. She took this as a positive thing. For this meal she'd worn her only kimono, a fairly simple one of wine red with a traditional crane design and her one luxury garment, her beautiful purple patterned _obi_ that had been an eighteenth birthday present from Yuko's parents. Her mom had spent most of the afternoon doing her hair and makeup and when she'd looked in the mirror she didn't see herself but a stranger, someone who looked about twenty and was sophisticated and elegant, not her at all. There was a woman standing there and the image in the mirror had been something of a shock. Time passed but you measured it in terms of weekends or school or events like holidays and birthdays, or seasons but here, now, suddenly, years had flowed over her and she was grown up. It made her afraid. Part of her didn't want to be grown up. Part of her wanted the comfortable existence of a child living at home with no need to worry about money, or finding somewhere to live, or a job. But then again, part of her was eager to face these things, to get on, get out and enjoy the future.

They ate formally, kneeling, and she was grateful that Seiji had warned her what was coming so she'd been able to brush up on her etiquette beforehand. Mr. Amasawa had even hired a chef and a waiter. She didn't know whether to be impressed or annoyed at the outrageous extravagance of it all. There were two highlights to the meal. First of all, Seiji, who looked good enough to eat in his dark blue kimono and _hakama,_ just couldn't take his eyes off her and who made her blush terribly, as though she were fourteen again, and secondly, Yumiko, Seiji's mother. It was as though she was trying to be not only the Yang to her husband's Yin but also making up for lost time. She found herself chatting away to this formerly distant lady as though she'd known her years. Yes, they had connected in the past and she'd spoken with her at the funeral as well as written to her a few times, but there was always the sense of her husband, Kouichi, hovering nearby to contaminate any potential closeness. But today the walls came down and she was so grateful for an opportunity to talk. Yumiko was a teacher who worked with disadvantaged, autistic children, and her reserves of patience, kindness and friendship showed, she was a delight to talk to and their conversation dominated the meal. In a way this was good because Shizuku could feel Mr. Amasawa listening. So this was her opportunity to shine for him too. She felt no compulsion to justify herself, she merely wanted him to know her. He could continue to hold whatever opinions he wished, she only wanted him to judge her on the basis of more information. If he thought she was from an insufficiently affluent family and was stealing his son, then that wasn't her problem, it was his and he'd have to deal with it. Because she was determined that she _would_ steal him, whether he liked her or not.

As she was leaving, Yumiko had spoken with her at the door of her taxi. The woman had made it plain there and then that she approved of her and that she and her husband would have a long talk. Shizuku knew she could rely on no better ally. Seiji put his head in the window of the car and kissed her goodbye,

"After they've talked, I'll page you. If he is happy then I'll tell you we are going."

She went home, changed and told her parents the meal had gone well. She was at her desk late in the evening reading _haiku_ when her pager chimed. She reached for it, then hesitated. What if it was bad news? Well, she wouldn't find out if she didn't check the call. She glanced at the screen. 8-8-9-1-9 or _ha-ya-ku-i-ku_. She smiled. Yes! Mr. Amasawa had agreed she was a suitable wife for his son. The pager chimed again, another 8-8-9-1-9 came through. She frowned and laid it on the desk. She sat grinning like a fool as the pager chimed sixteen more times in the next few minutes, once for each year of their ages. Each one was _ha-ya-ku-i-ku_ – "let's go". Then it fell silent. She undressed for bed and lay dozing, thinking about the conversation with Seiji's mother. As she was beginning to drift, as the dark smoke of unconsciousness swept around her the pager chimed again. She reached up for it. A simple 1-4-3 was on the screen. Smiling she sent a 1-4-3-2 back and lay down. Sleep came.

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27 December 2006

For author notes about chapter 11 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	13. Ch 12 Goodbye Luisa : Look in his Ear

**Chapter Twelve – Goodbye Luisa / Look in His Ear  
**  
In late March came the letter. It was from Anna-Marie. Her mother had gone into hospital. Shizuku telephoned her a few days later. Luisa was very ill now and was suffering constant pain from the arthritis. She was on continuous medication: morphine. Some days she was quite lucid and would hold meaningful conversations lasting half an hour or more. Then during these bright times she might suddenly ask if the bar served milk still and Anna would know that she was losing her grip on reality. On other days she simply slept, not the sleep of the tired but the sleep of the drugged. Anna hired an assistant to watch the shop and she and Anton would take turns to sit with her. Shizuku wanted to travel to see Luisa or even just to give Anna a few days rest but it was impossible, the cost prevented it.

In May Shizuku and her parents were invited to the Amasawa house for lunch. This was another occasion when things could have gone wrong but it seemed that the social machinery was working smoothly. It was interesting, she thought, to watch the interactions of her father and mother with Seiji's parents. Yumiko was fairly down to earth and approachable but his father still seemed to hold some disdain for these apartment-dwellers. She had no idea if he was still smarting from the victory Seiji had won over him in getting his own way with the violin making or whether he was just a simple snob. At the end of the meal Mr. Amasawa and Shizuku's father went for a walk in the garden and Seiji and Shizuku sat together in the lounge making polite small talk while the mothers were present, and diving into each others arms to sneak hot desperate kisses when the women went to the kitchen to make tea.

On the way home her father had said he and Mr. Amasawa had agreed that there were no great obstacles left in the way now. However he had asked that Seiji pay them a formal visit soon. Shizuku felt like she was a prize cow at a cattle auction. _How bad it must have been a hundred years ago,_ she thought, _when fathers were so less approachable, and children had no choice but obedience_. This was all quite silly really, if her and Seiji's fathers had agreed they couldn't marry, what would they have done? Why, gone right ahead and married anyway. They had decided their future and these old fashioned formalities were the dying gasps of a long out-dated social convention but which some fathers clung to as a last symbol of their authority. She didn't begrudge him holding such quaint views, she was just puzzled why he felt the need to bother. He gave Shizuku a smile,

"Don't worry too much, Seiji would have to mess everything up completely to disappoint Asako and I."  
"Like admitting after all that he was just a mucky little boy who'd wanted to get into my pants from the day he'd met me, you mean?"  
"Something like that, yes," Yasuya smiled.

When they climbed the stairs to the apartment they could hear the phone ringing inside. Shizuku was filled with a desperate dread and ran ahead to use her key and let herself in. She kicked off her shoes and ran into the kitchen. She lifted the handset.

"Hello?"  
"Shizuku, its Anna." Her voice was changed, something was wrong.  
"Anna, yes, what news?"  
"It's over, Shizuku. She went about half an hour ago."

There was nothing to say. The usual platitudes failed her, and Anna didn't need to hear them. She thought of nothing at all, no image came to her and worst of all no tears either. She turned around. Mom and dad were behind her, in the doorway.

"Are you still there?"  
"Yes, Anna, I'm here. I'm so sorry, I don't know what to say to you."  
"It's alright, you don't need to say anything, I just wanted you to know."  
"I appreciate you calling. Was it…? I mean, at the end was she…?"  
"Asleep, she slept all through the night and never woke this morning. There was no pain at the end."

Shizuku glanced at her watch; three o'clock. Eight in the morning in Cremona. The market traders would be setting up their stalls of fruit and vegetables, the old women would be washing down their front steps. At the Café Volpi someone would be laying out the cloth table covers. Marco would be serving breakfast and Tony would be in his kitchen sweating and smiling, for them just one more ordinary day ahead. Early morning prayers, the church bells would be pealing. And still she couldn't cry, she didn't know why. Perhaps because she wasn't sad. Perhaps she was happy. Happy that it was over.

"Shizuku?"  
"Yes."  
"Please don't be sad."  
"Anna, I can't begin to think what to say to you. I have never lost a parent so I have no idea what you are feeling. I haven't thought much about what comes after we die, I have no way to connect to you. I sometimes thought when this day came I would be sad but I'm not. Maybe that will come later. Is she with someone she loves now? I have no idea."

There was a sniff at the far end of the line, thousands of miles away.

"Oh, Anna, I'm sorry, you don't want to hear my babbling. I'm hurting you. I'll shut up."  
"It's quite alright Shizuku, it's good to have someone to talk to. There is just me and Anton you see, neither of us ever got married. I would have liked to but the right person never seemed to come along. I wish I'd thrown in my lot with one of the wrong ones now, at least I'd have someone to talk with."  
"Oh, Anna. We will come and see you when we can but I just don't know when that will be."  
"It's alright, Shizuku, I'm just upset. I'll get over it."  
"Please try to. I realize it must be so hard and I hate not being able to help you."  
"There was something. At the end mother listened to that violin recording a lot. I think it helped her a great deal, she'd often sit with her headphones on all day long. And in the hospital here she hardly took them off. I have an opportunity to listen to the music now. Seiji and you wouldn't mind would you?"  
"No, of course not. It wasn't anything private, just some playing he did one afternoon when we visited her two years ago. Please, feel free to have the tape."  
"That's kind of you, thank you."  
"When we next come to Italy we will come straight to see you and talk."  
"Thank you. Oh, there was something else."  
"Hm?"  
"Last night, it was in the small hours of the morning, about two or three. She said something in her sleep. I heard it clearly so I wrote it down. It meant nothing to me."  
"Yes?"  
"Look in his ear."  
"I'm sorry?"  
"Look in his ear. She said it twice, quite plainly. After that she didn't say anything else. Does that mean anything to you?"

Then she remembered, Luisa's parting comment when they'd last left Busseto two years ago. She'd not thought about it again. That evening they'd said goodbye to Adamo at the café then they'd gone to bed – she blushed at the guilty memory of forgetting all about Luisa's comment. Now, all of a sudden she knew, just _knew_ exactly what she meant.

"Shizuku?"  
"Yes, still here. Please wait a minute I'm just going to put the phone down."

She got up, pushed past her parents who were still in the doorway and went to her desk. She picked up the Baron, held him at an angle by the window where there was good light and looked into the dish of his cloth ear. She put her finger in and pressed aside the fur. Nothing. She looked in the other ear, the left one. Her finger felt something hard. Carefully she used two fingers to part the fur. There was a small disc in there, a cloth disk held to the material of the ear by a metal stud. It was quite small, not even half an inch across. There was writing on it. She could see an 'S' and a 'T' written in a curly script in gold thread. There was a word but she couldn't make it all out, her hands were shaking. Under the word was a number: _1927 _- then two digits she could not read – then a _3_. It meant nothing to her. She needed a magnifying glass. She ran back into the kitchen and grabbed the phone.

"Anna, oh, I'm sorry! This call must be so expensive. Yes! I know what that means. That is so helpful, thank you!"  
"Don't thank me."  
"Of course. Um, Anna, I'm sorry but this is very important. 'Look in his ear' means a lot, it's going to really help me sort something out. I must go and do something right now while I think of it. Can I say goodbye?"  
"Yes, Shizuku, but what is it?"  
"I'll call you back soon. In a few days. Is that alright?"  
"Yes."  
"It's going to be good news, please would you thank Luisa for me?"  
"Of course, yes. Well, good bye Shizuku. I hope we speak again soon."  
"Yes, we will. Good bye."

It wasn't until five minutes later when she was at her laptop and the modem was twittering to make her connection to the internet that she realized that Anna couldn't thank Luisa. So Shizuku did. Quietly, for a few minutes.

Her mother's needlework magnifying goggles let her read it. The word was of gold thread and was stitched into the red cloth disc inside the ear and it said _Steubener_. It meant nothing to her but she felt sure it was either a person's name, or a company, maybe even a place. The number she had noticed below this had two letters in it – _1927KM3_. She started up a search engine and tried a few keywords. She got lucky after fifteen minutes and followed a promising link.

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"**Steuben: Toy and Doll Makers, Konigin Wilhelmina Strasse, 171, Munchen, 1848-1951.**

Franz Steuben produced stuffed and wooden toys for over a hundred years. The company specialized in dolls, particularly animal dolls and wooden toy soldiers and vehicles. They were most well known between the wars for their sets of lorries and cars. Their peak of production was just before World War One. In 1942 the company was assigned to produce military equipment, particularly leather webbing belts and canvas and leather equipment such as water bottle covers and boots. The factory was destroyed in September 1944 during a bombing raid by the United States Army Air Force. The founder, Herr Franz Steuben died in 1918 and the company was then owned and worked by his two nephews Klaus and Friedrich. The company ceased independent production in 1951 when it amalgamated with two other local toy factories, Eberhard Moller Patentwerk and Schnee und Firma (see links at the foot of this page). Today the articles of incorporation of the joint Moller, Schnee und Steuben are held by Freiheit Software und Rechnen of Hannover, West Germany (see links at…"

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She printed the article. Now, at last, she had an address and an extant company name in Hannover, wherever that was.

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27 December 2006

For author notes about chapter 12 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	14. Ch 13 Meeting Him

**Chapter Thirteen – Meeting Him  
**  
Shizuku went out. She needed to be alone. She walked down to the Mukouhara station and caught the train to Suginomiya. Here she got out and began to walk. It was a mild spring, she needed no coat and the cherry blossom had almost all gone now. It seemed she'd be here for yet one more spring at this rate. She got the feeling that just when it had seemed so simple and she and Seiji could walk into a hotel or chapel and be married that it was no longer so straightforward. She got the impression that when it went ahead it would be a lavish affair and that Mr. Amasawa would want it done by the book. How soon in the future could they marry, if she thought about the practicalities? Six months? A year? It all seemed so complicated. She had even harboured silly girlish thoughts of ending school and just running away with him, living somewhere nasty and cheap, getting a basic job and earning enough for a simple ceremony and a flight out to Italy but perhaps that was a fantasy and totally unrealistic. Her dad and Seiji's father now wanted to take control and do things at their pace.

She found herself outside the Catholic Mission Church. Catholic churches were not common in Japan but there were a few. This building bore no resemblance to the many fine churches of Cremona or Firenze, it was a dull modern brick structure with a steel roof and a huge stainless steel cross outside stuck in a flowerbed. She thought it rather ugly. She pushed the door. To her surprise, unlike too many of the lovely churches in Cremona, this one was open. A bland room met her, a foyer with a blue carpet, recessed windows that had vases of flowers on the sills and a notice board. A further pair of doors was in front of her. She pushed through these. The chapel wasn't large, but it was airy and peaceful. There was a priest up at the altar end fussing over something, tidying away, and the room was filled with lines of bench seating in a modern, soulless style. A font was near the rear wall but the wall at the front of the chapel was filled with grand carvings full of busy detail. _Must be a real swine to dust,_ she thought. There were figures of saints in robes looking exactly like the ones she'd seen in Italian churches, a giant figure of Christ crucified was above the altar and to one side at the head of a side aisle was a smaller altar with a figure of the Virgin Mary behind it. There were small metal tables at two of three points with racks of candles burning. Shizuku stood for a moment just inside the doors, she'd no idea why she'd come in. Perhaps she had hoped to find some of the peace and quiet she'd found in several churches in Cremona. The wooden carving of the Virgin Mary caught her eye and she walked down the side aisle toward it. When she reached the altar she looked at it and found her quite beautiful. In one face the sculptor had captured beauty, innocence, worldliness, weariness, sadness, pity and joy. It wasn't a grand piece, quite simple but she picked up something from it, a tranquillity. There was a movement by her side. The priest was there,

"Miss, if you would not mind, may I ask you to wear this?"

He held a headscarf in his hands, plain chiffon in grey.

"Ladies should have their heads covered."  
"Oh, I didn't know. I'm sorry. Thank you."  
"Please just leave it on the table by the door when you leave."  
"I will, thank you."

She made the headscarf into a triangle and put it on, loosely tying it at her throat. The priest withdrew. She'd panicked, worried that he might talk to her but he seemed happy to let her alone. She went to the nearest pew and sat down, looking at that face. The figure held the baby Jesus wrapped in cloths and his face was invisible to the onlooker, you could only see where his head was because of where her gaze was directed. Whatever it was she was looking at in the small bundle in her arms the emotions on her face were caused by it. Shizuku compared this figure to the many she'd seen at various Shinto shrines over the years but by comparison Shinto sculpture was crude, there was little attempt to capture a personality in a Shinto figure. The face of Mary was both inspirational and distressing to look at. Here was a woman filled with happiness yet also knowing that the future held tragedy and pain. She had read in a book somewhere that when Mary gave birth to Jesus she'd been fifteen. Three years younger than Shizuku was now. Now _that_ was a scary thought.

She found herself thinking about Luisa. She recalled the long talks with her and how happy the old lady had been when looking at her brothers' garden. She remembered her laughter when she recalled that crazy ride on Falco's car; she remembered her voice as she spoke of her love for Shirou. She recalled her sharp wit and active mind when she'd questioned Seiji about his grandpa, his violins and his motivations; she really had been a very alert and incisive person then, and gentle too, despite the pain she must have been suffering. She thanked Luisa for all the help she had been to her and to Seiji. Then she prayed that she be at peace and be with the ones she loved. And it was there in that quiet place that her tears came. They came silently and strongly and she made no effort to stop them, she let them flow. They were necessary. They were right.

There was someone sitting beside her. She could feel them distinctly. She glanced over but the pew next to her was empty. She turned around. The pews behind her were also empty, the priest had disappeared into an office of some kind at the back of the chapel. The feeling of the presence next to her grew stronger. Her hands were together in her lap when she felt the warmth of a hand rest on hers. There was no sense of physical contact, no weight of bone or muscle but she knew that the person beside her who felt her pain had just placed his hand on hers. She felt a deep sense of comfort and belonging, of love and warmth. She was almost overcome by the love pouring out of this person. She felt like a warm duvet was all around her, cuddling her, protecting her. She felt physically warm and emotionally protected, cared about. The sensations were powerful but she felt no fear, only a deep sense of calm. She began to articulate thoughts in her head. She thought of her mom and dad, of Seiji and his parents, of Anna, Anton, Shirou and Luisa. Especially these last two. She didn't realize it at first but after a while she knew that this was praying. She'd never prayed before in a serious way and she found it a great healer, a great lifter of weight. She asked the person next to her to take care of Shirou and Luisa and to please heal any rift between Seiji and his father, and to comfort Anna and Anton – to give them strength. Finally, feeling strangely selfish, she asked her companion to bless her marriage and to grant Seiji success in his work. Then, unable to bear the cocoon of love that surrounded her, she got up and placing a couple of coins in a slot, she lit a candle. The person who had been with her stayed in the pew, but she felt him watch her as she left the church and he stayed watching her throughout her journey home.

This wasn't the only time Shizuku encountered this person but it was the first time and it was the time she remembered best. She considered who He might be but, unwilling to consider the obvious, she had rejected that. In future years however when her mind was torn with the guilt of wrong things she had done, of people she had hurt, of darkness she had caused, she felt this person near her again, and His healing power was even stronger.

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27 December 2006

I think the atheists and agnostics among you may be unhappy with this chapter, but if you are a person with an open mind, intelligent and have questions, please read my author notes in my forum for some background information on this. Thanks.

For further author notes about chapter 13 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	15. Ch 14 Tinker Tailor Soldier Sailor

**Chapter Fourteen – Tinker Tailor Soldier Sailor  
**  
Summer came. Shizuku started work. She chose deliberately to do several jobs, none of them well paid or especially taxing. What she wanted was experience. She wanted to find out what working was like in a variety of environments. None of these jobs lasted more than two months and some of them less. She must have annoyed no end of employers in Tama that summer. But for her this was important. If she was to seek work in Italy she needed experience and a wide range of it, it also helped boost her confidence and self-reliance.

She began by stacking shelves in a local supermarket, then working on the check outs. She liked this at once, because it involved contact with people, even if the contact was minimal and even if getting more than two words out of some of them was an effort, she still enjoyed it, she just liked to connect with people and experience their lives even in tiny pieces.

Next she tried being a waitress at a bar in a bowling alley and while the opportunity for contact with people was much greater she came across sexism in ugly quantities, most of the bowling alley clients were male and they seemed to think she was a piece of company property to stare at and to touch. Quite a few of the men, if she responded as a person (even politely), found her response difficult to handle (she became a person and not an object and they couldn't deal with that) or they assumed she was offering sex which was worse. Still, she was learning. It was interesting. Well, no, 'interesting' is too polite a word; sometimes it was downright horrible but the experience was useful.

She worked for a while in a factory assembling electrical components and hated it, as there was no time to talk with people.

She tried secretarial and administrative duties in an office and while that was quite good she found the office to be a poisoned network of people who had problems, grudges and who were only too willing to stab their colleagues in the back and criticize them in their absence. This depressed her for a few days.

Finally she worked in the back office of a small manga publisher, again doing general gopher work but also traveling out to their storage warehouse with the regular delivery driver to pick up and transport consignments of magazines to local shops. She enjoyed that the most as it gave her the opportunity to experience the inner workings of a publisher and she saw various authors come in to discuss projects. It wasn't like a book publisher where authors would submit manuscripts cold as the manga house would often approach known authors and commission work from them, but nonetheless it was a fascinating world.

She also spent time looking for a job in Italy. She narrowed it down to something that must involve contact with people, preferably not the same people day-in, day-out where cabin fever could poison working relationships, but contact with customers in some way. She also wanted to use and improve her Italian and so some kind of translating work appealed most. She struck gold towards the very end of 1998 when a job application she had written to the Cremona Tourist Office was accepted. She telephoned and explained that she planned to marry in spring 1999 and emigrate to Italy, her husband-to-be had work already arranged and could they wait for her to begin next summer? Amazingly, yes, they could. That evening she invited Seiji round and took him and her mom and dad out to a noodle bar, and because she was a working person she was delighted to be able to pay for them, it made her feel so grown up when the waiter gave her father the bill, but he passed it to her to pay.

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27 December 2006

For author notes about chapter 14 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	16. Ch 15 Mr Amasawa Meets Mr Tsukishima

Chapter fifteen is dedicated to SilverSanctuary, who likes the Seiji character. I think in this chapter Seiji really shines and we finally see a man who is going places. If I was a girl, my reaction would be just like Asako's and I'd want to marry him too ;) SilverSanctuary - this is for you.

-oOo-

**Chapter Fifteen – Mr. Amasawa Meets Mr. Tsukishima  
**  
In July came the day Shizuku was so nervous about. Seiji came to visit her mom and dad. He'd telephoned earlier in the week and she had answered. He had introduced himself as Mr. Amasawa and asked to speak to Mr. Tsukishima. Shizuku had joked with him but he'd replied – _please, I want to do this properly, it means a lot to me_. When Shizuku had called her dad to the phone and said it was Mr. Amasawa, Yasuya had assumed it was Seiji's father.

"Hello, Tsukishima."  
"Mr. Tsukishima, this is Mr. Amasawa, may I please arrange to visit you one day soon? I understand from my father that you wish to discuss something very important with me."  
"Seiji?"  
"Mr. Amasawa, yes. I would prefer an evening if that is to your convenience."  
"Um, yes, certainly, how would Thursday be, at about eight?"  
"Thank you, that would be fine. If I may clarify? This is concerning your daughter - that is why I am calling."  
"I understand Mr. Amasawa, I look forward to meeting you."  
"Thank you. You are most kind. Thursday at eight then. Goodbye."  
"Uh, goodbye."

He placed the phone down slowly and turned to Asako and Shizuku.

"My word. I've just spoken to a complete gentleman."

Thursday came, at one minute to eight the doorbell rang. Asako went to open it. Seiji stood there. He wore a suit and tie, had his mane of unruly hair brushed back and held a bunch of flowers in one hand and a small box in the other.

"Mrs. Tsukishima. Good evening."

He bowed spectacularly, very slowly and low.

"Seiji. Oh, yes, do please come in," she returned the bow.  
"These are for you, if you would please accept them."

He handed her the flowers, blue irises.

"Thank you. Oh, they're beautiful. How thoughtful of you."

Shizuku, in a towelling robe, came to the doorway of her room and saw a vision. If anything he looked even better tonight than he had done that evening at the Café Volpi three years ago. He slipped off his shoes and stepped up from the door.

"Hi Seiji, how are you?"  
"Miss Tsukishima, good evening. I'm very well, thank you for asking."

He bowed beautifully low to her as well. She stared at him, gave him a little nod in return. What was he up to?

"Please, Seiji, come this way."

As her mom led him past he gave her a wink.

"Mom, do you want me?"  
"Yes please Shizuku, you are decent aren't you?"  
"Yes, give me a minute, I'll just finish dressing from the shower."

She went in a few moments later. Her dad was sat in his usual chair at the table, her mom next to him. Seiji was seated facing Asako, Shizuku's usual chair was empty. She thought how odd it was that they gravitated to the same chairs all the time. She was also reminded that she still had a short story to write about The Table. She noticed on the book shelf behind her mom, was the box Seiji had brought. In Japanese style Yasuya had accepted his gift but not opened it. She sat beside the boy she loved and glanced at him. He stared straight ahead but she noticed his hands in his lap, beneath the table, carefully and calmly folded. One of them moved. He raised a thumb, just for a moment. Just for her to see. Her father spoke.

"Seiji, you are very welcome. I am glad you have come."  
"Sir, it's regarding your daughter…"  
"Seiji, can I suggest one or two things?"  
"Yes, Sir, of course."  
"Firstly please would you drop the 'sir', it really isn't necessary. And secondly before you mention Shizuku I'd like you to mention yourself."  
"Sir? … I mean, Mr. Tsukishima?"  
"I'd like you to talk to me a little about yourself. Please," he moved his forearm across the table, palm up in an open gesture, "feel free to talk about anything you wish."

Shizuku prayed. _Please, just don't screw up._

And Seiji began. He talked about some odd things. He mentioned his violin making when he was a boy and how driven he'd been to receive acceptance from his grandfather, and how happy he was when he'd succeeded after months of hard work to create a violin he was happy with, even though when first made it had made him unhappy because it was not good enough. He then randomly moved on to talk about cleaning the empty Earth Shop with his mother, his story of dealing with the pain of his grandpa's loss. Then another side step took his audience to his fathers company, how he hated having been groomed for years to become a company director and how he loathed being pressured into something he didn't want to do; that running a big company just wasn't for him. Next he spoke about his mother's love of keeping and breeding _Koi_ and how upset he'd been one day when he was about seven to find her best one dead in the tank. He talked of camping trips when he was a small child. He talked of school and his struggles to understand history, especially war; how much he hated war, and all kinds of human conflict, even conflict in business and in families. He talked of when he was thirteen and fourteen and being in love with a girl but not having the courage to speak to her until chance brought them together in the strangest of ways (Shizuku went pink at this part). He talked about one day cycling over the hill in the very early morning when he was twelve and seeing the sun rise. He'd stopped and climbed over a fence onto some waste ground and watched the sun come up. He'd been so inspired by this sight that he'd gone straight to his grandpa's workshop and restarted work on a violin that had made him so cross that a month before he'd almost thrown it away. One day he'd seen a car crash near his parent's house. There was a body in one of the vehicles and he'd felt nauseous and run away which ashamed him. He told Yasuya and Asako that one day three years ago in a small Italian family run hotel he had slept with their daughter and he had never had such a beautiful experience in his life, he'd never encountered such a beautiful person (Shizuku went scarlet and looked away out the window). Seiji's life came out in random chunks, pieces of his character, small windows on his personality. He spoke carefully, dealing in subjects that Shizuku knew to be true, sometimes too true, too honest, so much so that she cowered in embarrassment. At last, after about an hour, he stopped.

"I can continue if you wish, Mr. Tsukishima. I'm happy to go on."  
"Seiji, that won't be necessary. Thank you for being so honest with us. I don't think I have ever sat and heard so honest a story before. And from such a young man. You were very brave mentioning your liaisons with Shizuku. Did you want to shock me?"  
"No, I wanted to tell you the truth. If you want to know what sort of person I am I think it best that I tell you both sides, rather than keep half hidden."  
"I see."  
"You don't wish me to go on? Have I offended you?"  
"No, no, you haven't. But you have certainly surprised me. It's not so much the content, more the method of delivery – your frankness. It's very admirable."  
"Thank you."  
"That must have been difficult."  
"Yes, Mr. Tsukishima, it was. I am sweating buckets to be quite plain with you. But of course, its worth it isn't it?"  
"There you go again. Too much honesty isn't always the best policy you know. You don't have to lie, Seiji, you can just withhold some of the truth. I think you'll find in your future business dealings that it's wise not to go about with your cards all on the table."  
"I see. Thank you."  
"Now, perhaps you would please tell us a little about your future plans."  
"Of course, but there's really not much to say. I intend to emigrate to Italy as soon as I can. I have a ten year apprenticeship post secured in Cremona with a violin master called Guarnieri. I think you could look him up on the internet, he's one of the foremost makers of violins in the world today. Oh, I'm sorry. That sounded like boasting. I didn't mean it that way, I just wanted to demonstrate to you how committed I am to this."

Shizuku looked at her mom. Her mom looked stunned, as though she wasn't hearing this from a man so young. Her mouth was a little open and her eyes were round. _She can't believe she's hearing this. _She turned to look at Seiji and she found herself admiring his profile as he spoke. She began to smile, to grin even, she was so happy at seeing him like this, so confident, so in control. What a change from the hesitant boy she'd known before they went to Cremona to see Luisa two summers ago. Shizuku all of a sudden actually felt aroused. He was just so manly, so sexy, she needed to either touch him or touch herself. It was a powerful sensation; sitting there, watching him, she could feel her body opening for him, preparing. She kept her hands between her knees and breathed deeply to retain her calm. The boy she was on the verge of sexually assaulting continued,

"I understand it will be very hard work and long hours. I have inquired about the pay and I must be honest and say it's not good. I wouldn't be embarrassed to tell you the amount if you need to know. However my mother has promised to make out a property in my name when I am twenty one and I will get some income from rental on that. Once the ten years are up I should be in a position to start my own violin making workshop. However I haven't yet decided what form exactly that will take – whether I remain as a one man show or hire apprentices of my own, or even go into schooling younger students, I don't know. I will also have the option of location; I could stay in Italy or return to Japan, to my property in Tama here and start a business here. It depends on many factors."  
"Which are?"  
"Well, my marital status for one. If I am married,"

he glanced very slightly at Shizuku, intending this statement to mean married _to her_, and not anyone else,

"then how mobile I can be will depend on her needs. She may have a job that will keep her in Italy. Also the financial situation in ten years is a complete unknown; I have little idea whether a violin business in Cremona will be financially buoyant and if I return here, what the economy in Japan will be doing. I know that well made violins command high prices, the question is getting known well enough to interest buyers. There are lesser factors as well such as whether any other location in Europe might appeal. I'm sorry but being only able to guarantee a livelihood for ten years and not a very financially secure one is not a sound proposal. But it is my plan for now."

Then Asako spoke,

"Seiji, if I were eighteen again, I would marry you."

He looked at her and gave her his best crooked smile,

"Mrs. Tsukishima, I'm very flattered by that, you'll make me blush."

Yasuya cleared his throat.

"Asako, any questions?"  
"None. I have made my mind up, but the final decision is yours."  
"You're pressuring me." He turned to Seiji again, "Young man, when you walked in here with your smart suit and polite manners I wasn't quite sure what was going on. You then stuck to social etiquette to an unnecessary degree and I began to think you were clowning around, acting sarcastically because you thought my asking to interview you was old fashioned and stupid."

Seiji made to interrupt but Yasuya raised a hand to silence him,

"Let me continue. When you sat down and began to spew out that speech of yours I assumed you'd carefully rehearsed it and everything was calculated to impress. I can tell you that at one stage I got rather annoyed with you. But then you went on to list some of your faults and weaknesses and you mentioned being with Shizuku in Italy when you were both fifteen and I realized you were actually trying to be honest with me. I do appreciate that honesty, but as I said, you should be careful with that. However I've worked for many years with all kinds of people, some of them try to deceive me and I am good at telling when someone is lying or evading a point. I can tell that you just spoke the truth to me even though parts of that truth were painful and embarrassing. I appreciate that. And of course it is impossible to forecast what chances a small business will have in ten years time in another country. It's impossible to even predict the business strength of Toyota or Sony in ten years, so had you tried to paint me a picture of a sound plan ten years into the future I would have known that was rubbish. I'm glad you didn't."  
"Thank you."  
"Have you anything else you'd like to say?"

Seiji stood up, all three faces looked up at him. Shizuku clutched her hands to her chest, her heart was bumping away inside her so hard she could feel her hands judder. If her parents could suddenly be teleported out of the apartment to leave the two of them alone she knew she'd jump up and tear his clothes off right there and then, he was just so fantastically attractive like this, so in control.

Seiji spoke,

"Yes. Mr. Tsukishima, Mrs. Tsukishima. I love your daughter very much. I have loved her for five years now and in the last two years my love for her has grown to such an extraordinary depth that I know I couldn't live without her. I promise to protect her and take care of her and defend her with all my strength,"

(Asako's hand went up to her mouth, covering the wide O)

"I intend to emigrate and that will mean taking her away from you, so I understand that will be hard for you. However I can assure you that she will be in good care. After ten years, I don't know what my prospects will be but I do know that I will be even more deeply in love with her then than I am now. That's a prediction I can make."

He bowed low to them both,

"I want to marry your daughter. Please may I have your permission and blessing?"

He made to sit down but never made it. Shizuku bounced up, squealed and put her arms round him,

"Oh my God, Seiji! Seiji, _Seiji!_ I've never heard anyone say anything so wonderful. I love you so!"

He tried to ignore her and maintain composure but failed. She'd by now burst into tears of happiness. He looked at Asako, she too was weeping. She said,

"Yasuya, if you say no I will probably hit you."

There was a brief pause. Yasuya stood,

"Hm. I'd better say yes then."

With that Shizuku let go of Seiji and jumped around the table and flung her arms round her father squeezing him hard and crying out with joy.

"Seiji," Yasuya spoke, "you have our permission. And our blessing. May you both be very happy together."

Seiji bowed and then unable to maintain his polite façade any longer he reached across the table and shook Yasuya's hand, a broad grin lit up his face. Asako stood and went round the table to him and hugged him. She was crying too now. He didn't know where to put his hands and just patted her shoulder gently.

"Seiji," the older man spoke again, "we seem to be hugging the wrong ladies. Would you care to swap?"  
"Yes. Yes I would."

So the two women went around to the other side of the table a second time.

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27 December 2006

For author notes about chapter 15 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	17. Ch 16 On The Hilltop

**Chapter Sixteen – On The Hilltop  
**  
It was later. They were outside the _danchi_ by the bike shed. His bike lay on the ground beside him where it had fallen because he'd suddenly needed both arms to hold her as she came to him. They hugged for several minutes.

"Seiji, I am _so_ proud of you. You were fantastic tonight, so confident, so much a man. Ooh, you were lovely!"

She kissed him again, the third in as many minutes. This kiss went on. And on. It became moist and complicated. She needed him, she felt… well after that odd moment in the kitchen she just felt _hot_, there was no other word for it.

"I need you. I need to touch you right now. I can't resist this feeling. Can we go somewhere?"

He looked taken aback and thought fast.

"I can only think of one place. Get on the bike, it's quite a way."

And so, like the kids they had once been, he took her up the hills to a piece of waste ground in a high place. The hole in the fence they climbed through seemed to be getting smaller, it was a struggle not to ruin their clothes. This time there was no blanket and his suit was ruined, but he didn't care. She came to him more eagerly, more desperately than he'd ever known her. There was little love in this act, or rather, the love they shared wasn't a gentle and caring one; it was fast, urgent, hot, and it burned them so much they cried out. But she needed this and as it ended he found that, from the cry her movements tore from his lips, he did too. After they had ended and she was kneeling astride him, savouring the feeling of him still inside her, she bent her head down and softly kissed him, the only tender act of the last ten minutes. There was no long afterglow, no sweet cuddling, they had eaten fast food and simply needed to go, it was a strange meeting, unlike any other they'd had but it was one of the most powerful and fulfilling she'd yet experienced and the sheer animal-ness of it stuck in her mind for a long time.

Afterwards as they dressed, he remembered something. He reached in a pocket and drew out a small box. What he said was simple and direct,

"For you. Please marry me."

She opened it. A ring. The centre stone was an emerald, the kind that his grandpa had once said was sometimes embedded in the rocks alongside the mica-schist and beryl and which you'd only find after lots of digging and polishing.

"I sold a violin two weeks ago. Number three has gone to a good home, one of grandpa's old students, Hiromi. She'll take good care of it. So I thought I'd go a bit mad and get this. I've had my eye on it for months."

Shizuku looked at the ring, back up at him.

"It's beautiful. Thank you so much. Yes, I want to marry you."

He took it from the box and held her hand.

"There is another ring coming. I promise, but for now please wear this one."

Third finger, left hand. He slipped it on. Shizuku was the happiest girl in the world.

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28 December 2006 (in the wee hours)


	18. Ch 17 A Boys Perspective

**Chapter Seventeen – A Boy's Perspective **

_Seiji – Tama – April 1999  
_  
I thought back to almost four years ago,

_was it really that long? Where had the years gone?_

when she had spoken those words in that bed. Those heavenly words that even today made me hurt because they were so true

_the world is made new, and I am made new with it._

When I had gone through the wringer in Luisa's garden the following year I'd finally understood what she'd meant. That something had changed, something so important that you'd never go back, couldn't go back to the way things were before. When I had looked hard at myself and seen the sham I'd become, hiding my skills and talents in a make believe ability of grandpa's, I set myself free and was able to place him in a true position – not that I thought less of him - but no longer did he dominate my world with a false presence. Yes, he'd been a strong link, but only a link. Not the whole chain. Shizuku had been right; she'd seen it long before I. I was my own link as I discovered that Friday afternoon in Busseto. And that I might be a strong link too. So I set out on a new journey, a journey without him (for the first time) and with her.

Well, it wasn't easy.

I know what Shizuku thought of school those last years and months, but unlike her I kept at it, trying as hard as I could. I needed to take to Italy with me the evidence of a person able to work hard and to apply himself to problems and see them through. I needed to take to Signore Guarnieri the smell of success and not just a whiff of getting by. Sure, he wouldn't be interested in the content of my school coursework but at least having the files to show him would demonstrate an honesty I thought he'd appreciate. And the school certificates would help, I'd just have to get them reliably translated by an accredited document company in Cremona so he'd be able to read them. So ninety-seven was quite different for me. Very tiring.

Ninety-eight, well that was a year wasn't it? So much happened yet in retrospect it seemed an empty year as well. Lots of mundane, ticking-over time seemed to be in it. Luisa's death hurt Shizuku but it left no mark on me. My only fond memory of her was that final afternoon when she'd helped me but in fact she'd never been a _person_ for me, I'd just never got that close. Do you know what? My main recollection is of her garden, where I walked and fine tuned _A Song About Us. _Shizuku took a copy on CD and spent a long time worrying away at the lyric. She did a wonderful job in the end, we've been practicing it and some other songs the last few weeks for the wedding reception. That's going to be a tricky one, standing up in front of everyone and playing music I've written and with a sixteen piece band following my lead. But nothing compared to her job – singing it. Well, if it all goes wrong we'll be together in the crap just like we've been together in everything that's been good. Hey, we'll survive.

Mm, what else? Oh, yes, I started taking driving lessons. I thought that might be useful in Europe. No money to buy a car here and no real need to. I borrow mom's little runabout if I have to. I knew she would say yes.

All the business about the family crises and organizing permissions and so on, I'll leave to her to tell you about. I've had a belly full of family crises and discussions these last few years, so - enough! I did go into her parents apartment that evening last July absolutely determined to get the girl, so to speak, so I prepared well. Even so a lot of what I said I don't remember, I just thought I'd be honest to him and say what came to mind and felt relevant. It worked – wish I'd had a tape recorder though, as I could do with perfecting that technique. Shizuku has trouble understanding why her father wanted to speak to me so I could formally ask for her hand, but I don't. I've had so many battles with my dad over getting permission to do things that she hasn't got a clue what a cushy deal she has with her mom and dad. And besides, what her dad dug his heels in over _was_ important wasn't it? I mean, if I were her dad, I wouldn't let just anyone wander up and take her away.

But for me the highlight of the year was the workshop. I actually got a taste of running a school, well it wasn't a huge success mind you; it staggered along like a drunk at two in the morning but it did actually pay for itself and kept me in beer money.

When the Earth Shop had been cleared out all the antiques were sold but all the workshop equipment and tools, and the violin making stores I kept. They were stashed above the garage. I think I had an idea that if things didn't work out in Italy, I could at least come back here and run a small business or start up a school. But then dad retired and an opportunity came along. Dad had an office outbuilding built behind our garage where he often worked on company business – he didn't go into the office every day and with a decent internet connection he could use his office intranet from home. But he retired last winter and the office was cleared out. Most of the files were company property anyway and technically all the furniture was as well, so much of it went to the office where his new director, Mr. Kamimura, took possession. I asked dad if he had any plans for the empty room and he said no, and did I want it. And that was it, I was in like a shot. I had to ask nicely to get him to pay to have a boiler and flue fitted so the steamer tank for the wood could be operated, plus a powerful fan and hopper for dust extraction but when it was done and had a lick of paint it looked pretty good. For a month or two I just worked in there on my own. Number eleven had sat, half finished since mid-1995 when grandpa's workshop closed. I dug her out and took a careful look. She was salvageable, no damp or cold damage, no warping of the case, so I got on with it. It felt odd doing this again after such a long break but those quiet days in spring were a therapy I think. Shizuku was so busy doing her thing with the various jobs she was trying so I thought – why not? I'll have a go at doing some proper work of my own and hopefully learn something. So I dug out grandpa's filing and made contact with his old students to let them know I was restarting the business. Amazingly two of them showed an interest and Hiromi, although she wasn't interested in coming along, offered to buy one of my instruments. I let her select one, she brought her violin tutor along with her and she took away number three. That was a good choice I thought, at least someone had learned something from grandpa. So with two students I started work. I learned a lot fast. I needed to check with dad about the property insurance because we'd done a change of business use on the office. Third party insurance was required. I had to think about how much I should charge for lessons, I had to keep proper accounts, and open a bank account. And I had to retro-actively set up a registered business with the Companies Registrar (I got some stick over that, it just never occurred to me until a letter from the tax people arrived). And most challenging of all I had to structure the lessons. And that was, well, let's just say it was _partially_ successful. But I even tried placing a few adverts in local papers and got two more students that way so I think all in all I can call my very first business venture a success. At the end of the year I was able to pay dad back the cost of the improvement works on the office and buy people some nice gifts with a bit spare left over, not quite enough to buy a ticket to Italy but it was a start. And the best thing was that on some evenings when she'd finished work, Shizuku would come round and just sit and be with me, she'd either watch me or listen to music or plug in her laptop and write and in a way it felt like we were married. It was cosy, nice.

The wedding day got closer and the thing took on a momentum of it's own, like some monster in a lab created by a mad scientist, once it broke it's chains and started rampaging about no-one could stop it. The Godzilla of all weddings. I remember the first time Shizuku and I had discussed it and we'd wanted something small and private and romantic but then two dads and two moms got involved and family and a hotel and flower arrangers and a band and outfits needed to be hired and cars and really it just went way over my head and like a newbie surfer all I could do was just try to stay on the board and ride the wave.

But we put our foot down on a few things. We'd wear traditional kimono for the service but we both wanted to change into European formal dress for the reception. Shizuku and I had looked at several Italian wedding websites and got the idea of the type of reception protocols they followed and we went with that. We also insisted on playing some live music. I wanted to play something and I'd asked Kita, Minami and Higashi to join me in a couple of numbers, so we five had rehearsed for our slot. Other than that it was a live band. Minami knew some guys and he somehow got dad along to listen to them, they were a small brass and string orchestra, and one guy played piano, another drums, about sixteen of them I think, so we booked them, which was great because Minami and Kita knew some of them and they were all quite cool guys and that worked well. Of course for the pop and rock songs we needed singers and Higashi knew these three girls who did backing work in a local recording studio as well as some work in local clubs. While they didn't have fantastic voices they were all quite good and if they took turns singing lead with two backers they could probably sing for much of the evening, a few instrumentals mixed in to give them a break. Dad chose the hotel, it was the _Seiyo Ginza_. I'd heard of it but the name didn't mean much to me except luxury. If you're interested, look it up on the web. One morning my dad, Shizuku's dad, and she and I went there to discuss the service and reception and possibly book rooms. Well, how can I describe that visit? I was totally blown away and I know Shizuku was too. The place was like a royal palace, like a dream. I think the bedroom of the suite dad wanted to book for us was bigger than Shizuku's entire apartment. I couldn't begin to think how much this was going to cost. Afterwards I confronted dad,

"Who is paying for this, dad?"  
"I am of course, the grooms father always does."  
"But don't you think that place is a bit over the top?"  
"No, I think it's quite appropriate. Do you think you are not good enough for it? Or that Shizuku isn't?"  
"No, that's not my point. It's that, well, it's just _so_ extravagant, surely there are places of quality and intimacy that are not so blatantly – well _showy_?"  
"You don't like it?"  
"No, I didn't say that. It's a beautiful hotel. We were just thinking of something less fancy."  
"Cheaper."  
"Cheapness isn't the intent, dad. Intimacy and romance is the intent."  
"I see. Let me tell you something,"

_here we go  
_  
"I have struggled long and hard in my life to achieve my goals. My father did the same, he taught me that nothing will come to you if you sit on your backside and wait. So I went out and got what was important to me,"

_money  
_  
"it took a lot of hard work. I became the proud father of two fine sons. I'm not going to discuss with you again how I feel about Kouiji and how he has led his life. You might not appreciate it but you are very important to me, Seiji. I know that we have not seen eye to eye on many things, but we discussed that before and that is all settled now. You are going to Italy soon. I am no longer that young and anything might happen in ten years, I have no idea when we may next meet."  
"Dad, don't say that."  
"Hear me out. You are important to me, and I know Shizuku is important to you,"

_but is she important to _you_, dad, that's the question isn't it?  
_  
"so I want to give the two of you a send off that you will not forget. It's my duty to do this and my gift and I would be happiest if I chose this venue and you let me be extravagant on your behalf this one last time. Do you understand?"  
"Yes, dad, but… well the place isn't what we would choose, it's what you would choose but it isn't saying anything about us."  
"Seiji. We have argued many times in recent years. You and I have disagreed on far too many things. You have been a good defender of your corner and I have let you choose your future. I admit you won. So this one time, this last time I will choose. Let's not fight, hm? I won't have another fight with you."  
"I understand."  
"Seiji, it will be a wonderful day, a beautiful day. I want to give the two of you this, so let's leave it at that."  
"Yes."

And that was it, and once that venue was agreed everything else had to be double life size in order to match. Dad booked about thirty rooms for the guests on his 'select list', a conference room for the reception, their smaller conference room would be our chapel for the service, cars, flowers, the band. I backed off and let him go, he was doing what he enjoyed best. I spoke to Shizuku about my worries but she was clear headed as usual,

"Seiji it doesn't matter. People who know your dad will know the hotel is his choice, that it's not a reflection on us. And besides, he is right, it's his money, if he's happiest spending it then he'll be happiest on the day. I know it's our day but I'd hate to go somewhere else that we loved but he didn't. A fight between you and him on that day would be horrible. I just want this to go well. You've fought him enough, let him have his fun. We will have years together, let him have one day, hm? Besides, it _is_ a gorgeous hotel, and it's not _that_ big, not like some of the huge glitzy ones for example. I'm sure we'll have a lovely time."

She was right,

_we will have years together, let him have one day  
_  
I had won the war, letting him win the rearguard skirmish as he retreated wasn't a big thing.

And now that time had come. It was the morning of 25th April 1999, the day I would marry her. I had been dressed by a hired butler in my kimono and _hakama_. For a few minutes of precious peace and quiet I went out to the workshop and stood in the silence. The warmth from the boiler which had been running yesterday, the smells of fragrant wood and seasoning and oils and polishes and glues. These smells were my life. This was my life. My last few minutes alone were ticking by, sliding gently away. From now on I would no longer be one, but half of two. I unwrapped the bundle on the bench, lay the cloth aside. She was under it. Number 11. I had finished her yesterday. Despite living as a half completed carcass under my bed for four years I think she was the finest, the most beautiful. Her sound was one of forests, and lakes, mists and longing. She was very good, I was at last free to admit that. She was done. All she needed was her brass plate etching and pinning on. Number 11 was a good number for today. Two ones. Two single digits brought together to make something greater than their sum. Perhaps I would name her, but I hadn't decided what. I lifted her up and cradled her easy weight under my chin. A bow was nearby. I went outside. In the garden I tried a note, then a few more. Then I drew breath and played _A Song About Us. _It was the right song to play. She would be the right one to take today. I had planned to play on number 1, my favourite but today 11 was a better number and so I made the decision.

I heard a car. Mom stood by the door.

"Seiji, the car's here, please come, it's time."

Jiro was best man, my old dancing friend. I'd made contact with him again a couple of years ago after that mad night in the Firenze night club and we'd restarted our friendship. He'd let the dancing slip away as well but we got together again and had a few goes and that old zing was still there. Last night we'd got the bus into town and met up with some of his old mates and had a few drinks and done some stupid stuff like dancing on the street pretending we were street artists. It was pretty funny. So here I was, on my way. Butterflies in the stomach or what?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

28 December 2006


	19. Ch 18 Day of Days

**Chapter Eighteen – Day of Days **

_Tokyo Ginza – 25th April 1999  
_  
_Shizuku _

The car pulled up at the hotel. A doorman came forward but dad had got out first and walked round and indicated to him to stand aside. He opened the door for me. I got out and nodded a thank you to him. Kinu was my attendant, bless her and she assisted daintily. I hoped there were some unattached boys around today, she would be a great catch.

Tokyo was bustling but for a minute two doormen held red ropes across the walkway to keep people back and dad, Kinu and I went to the doors. I wasn't touching the ground, I couldn't feel it at all, I floated on a cushion of energy that was part nerves, part dream and part love. Some of the guests were at the doors and photographs were taken but I can't recall the details.

Inside, the hotel was indeed beautiful, all cool cream marble and green plants, impeccably dressed staff acting like servants ushering me along. We waited for a short time in an ante room and then I heard music. I had left the music entirely up to him, and he didn't disappoint. He had got some band along that Minami knew some people in, and they could pretty much play anything; pop, jazz, folk, swing, classics, blues, they did us proud today. I went forward, left hand on dad's right arm, somehow I moved but I don't remember using any muscles. The music was Handel, the _Water Music Suite No.2 in D_, the _Alla Hornpipe_. I knew it well, he had played it on Luisa's patio years ago, and he had played it for me many times since. Doors opened in front of me, a large room, the smell of fresh flowers hit me like a solid wall, people's faces turning to look, my own face broke into a smile. The music rose, swelled and became a thing of joy. So this is what it's like? I never imagined. Ahead of me was a corridor between the faces, at the end a low platform, an altar-like table on it and a monk. Dressed in red and black he looked splendid, his face was kind. There was patience and relaxation in that face, I placed my trust in him. We had eventually, after much discussion, decided on a Shinto ceremony. I'm not a religious person but I wanted some spiritual element in today – later there would be speeches, food, music, dancing but this was _the_ moment wasn't it? And somehow being married by a nobody clerk from the municipal authorities wasn't right, so we'd spoken to a Shinto priest in Tokyo and arranged it. It did involve us going to a couple of ceremonies for purification beforehand and while I didn't really feel a part of what was going on, they were relaxing and inspiring events.

I was almost at the altar. There were two people to my right, two men. A shorter man with dark brown hair wearing a blue kimono and a taller one to his left. The taller one wore a beautiful kimono of smoke grey and _hakama_ of a colour I can only describe as a blend of cream and deep lilac in a swirling pattern. It was a strange colour, quite feminine but it merged with the medium grey beautifully. The taller man had black hair, a thick mass of it, it was still a bit lumpy at the back, that part I often tried to smooth down with my damp hand but it wouldn't obey, something to do with the way the crown of hair grew from his scalp. It seemed the person who dressed him today had been beaten by it too. That didn't surprise me, I'd had many goes at making it tidy but never had any luck.

_Don't turn around, I feel that would be bad luck. Don't look at me until I'm there._

I stopped. Dad let go of my hand and moved away to my left rear. I amazed myself by remaining upright. I looked up at the monk and he smiled slightly, a nod. There was someone looking at me. Well, I knew dozens of people were, there might not be a single person in the room who wasn't but this gaze was special. I felt it fall on the right side of my face like sunlight. I turned my face a little and looked at him.

-oOo-

_  
Seiji  
_**  
**Then she was next to me. I sensed her nearness, I could smell her perfume. She was a foot away. Jiro touched my elbow, three quick taps, our agreed code for the "go" signal. I gave him a nod of thanks. I suppose there were no rules here that said I couldn't? So, wanting to, I did. I turned my head to look. Her head was held up, her face in profile. If I had a time machine I'd travel back to that moment and freeze the world so that I could look again at that profile. Then she slowly turned to look at me. How can I describe her? I can't. My words are insufficient. All I can think of is the sound that number 11 made when I first made her strings vibrate. A deep, smooth beautiful moment. That was her face. When serious she's pretty enough but she chose this moment to smile and that was it for me. How could this day get any better than right now? Well it did but I can't understand how it managed to. Once you've experienced perfection how much better can things get?

Handel's Hornpipe ended and the band moved into Pachelbel's _Kanon in D_. Not the full band now, just a cello and three violins. I know some people play this music at funerals and think it sombre but it raises me up, I find it smooth and creamy, curvy and sweet smelling. When I hear it I'm taken back in time to that magical morning in the attic room when I awoke and saw her sleeping; her naked side, the colour and clarity of her skin, the smooth curve of hip and waist. Music affects people in many different ways, my private response to _Kanon_ is seeing her that way, so this was a moment of purely private indulgence. We looked at each other throughout the piece, all five minutes of it, and by the end we were both grinning. It was a great start, a great relaxer and bringer down of barriers.

The music ended. Now we could go on. The monk began.

-oOo-

_  
Shizuku  
_**  
**I've spoken to other people about this and no-one can recall the moment they were married, one moment in the service you are a single person and the next you are not, there has to be a point when this change occurs but no-one can feel it. I couldn't either. I went into that room alone and came out not-alone and the point of changeover is lost to me. I suppose it's not important but it would be nice to have that moment in your memory, like a revelatory light coming on. But no, it's not like that. There is one thing (apart from his face, the touch of his hand) that I do remember from the service. The kiss. I suppose the kiss is the symbol of marriage beginning isn't it? The first act a married couple do, so in a way, and if that's true, then I do recall the moment of changeover. The service was a blur, I just don't remember it. I tried hard to speak with feeling and strong intent, to put love and other emotions into my voice but I've no idea if it came out that way.

Oh, I almost forgot. There was another thing. The ring. Hm, I go pink with embarrassment even now thinking about it. We exchanged rings, thankfully neither had been forgotten. I remember the moment I slipped his onto his finger. It was part way down and I looked at the gold circle and his finger through it and I suddenly noticed what an erotic symbol it was, him entering me. I looked up at his face and he wore a smile that had a tiny element of crookedness about it, a not-serious smile, something light hearted and a bit cheeky. His finger continued to pierce the circle I held and suddenly I could feel him _hearing_ what I was thinking. You don't join with another person this intimately very often, sometimes not even when you are both naked, so this junction between us was rare and special. He detected naughty thoughts in my head and I blushed. As the ring pressed against his lowest knuckle and seated home the tip of his finger brushed gently against my palm and a very rude image indeed went through my mind. I had to look away, this wasn't the time to think of things like that. It's strange when I discuss this with my friends, they all either have no memory of the service at all (common) or they just recall being nervous and making mistakes when they spoke. I have never told anybody what was going through my mind at what should have been a pure and happy moment of my life. To think that I thought about those things makes me go pink even now. Perhaps I'm just a very naughty girl? I certainly felt like one for a minute or two in that room.

And then it was over, or rather it had begun. The monk pronounced us husband and wife and suggested to Seiji that if he wished to, he might kiss me. I looked at him and gave him my patiently waiting smile, _do this if you want to or don't, I don't mind. _

And he decided that he did want to. He looked at me calmly and then he surprised me. Rather than a quick and emotionless touch he put such effort into that kiss. My hands were by my sides, he lifted his and placed his palms either side of my face, holding me gently, and he came to me. He whispered,

"keep your eyes open,"

and we touched. There were no open lips, this wasn't the place for that. It was a chaste kiss, but charged with such gentleness. As he'd asked, I kept my eyes open,

_like in Cremona _

and his eyes were wide and bright and while there wasn't any great sensation where our mouths touched, everything was happening between us through our eyes. It was magical.

-oOo-

_  
Seiji  
_**  
**As we turned to progress out of the room a sea of faces was in front of me. I tried to look around and make eye contact but many of them were out of focus, I don't know why. I put on what I hoped was a suitably happy smile, and avoided the comedian role – that was the nerves, to beat the nerves I often play the fool, but that wasn't something I'd allow myself today. Dad was there, and mom. Mom seemed to have something in her eye, she was wiping it. I gave them the right kind of nod, I have to confess my brain wasn't really in proper functioning mode, it was all emotion now, and adrenalin. I lifted my right arm, the elbow out,

_just like at the fountain when we walked to the _Museo Stradivariano_  
_

she looked at me and then slipped her hand inside my arm and rested it on my muscle. Step down together, try and walk slowly, try and smile. It was all a blur. The _exit_ music played. I'd chosen Vivaldi,_ Four Seasons: Spring, No.1 Allegro_. That was a no-brainer really, such a great piece, it was full of happiness and positive forward looking energy. We walked out, the sea of faces, mostly blobs, moved around me.

-oOo-

_  
Shizuku  
_**  
**As we turned to leave, mom and dad were near me on the end of the first row of seats. I stopped and leaned toward them. I touched my cheek to his face, to hers and said a quick

_love you. Thank you_

Mom was crying. Why do people cry at weddings? I didn't feel even remotely like crying, maybe that was the nervous energy keeping me going. I saw that even dad looked a bit choked up, not like him at all.

We walked, some beautiful happy classical music played, Vivaldi I think. Then I saw Yuko and Sugimura. They too had aisle seats. Friends of the groom one side, friends of the bride the other. All very proper and formal. They were friends of us both but of course Yuko and I went back the furthest so they'd sat on the bride's side. But as I drew near them a random thought went through my mind

_let's just stay friends_

a stupid messed up ten minutes of my fourteen year old life at the shrine at Kompira-guh when he confessed to me in a perfect sea of _komorebi_ and I rejected him. _Baka!_ Don't think of that now

_let's just stay friends_

_friends of the groom one side, friends of the bride the other_

_friends of the bride _

friend

that was five years ago, he was over that now surely? But I'd remembered it, why now though? Why remember it now? I was next to him, he slid past my right side as though on a conveyor, as though I were standing still and he moving, there was only a fraction of time in which to decide to do it. I stopped, a gentle tug on my left arm told me Seiji had been looking elsewhere and not expected me to stop, but he stopped too and waited. I leaned over to Sugimura, his eyes opened wide as I approached, he seemed to draw back a little, probably in surprise. But I wasn't going to let him get away. I pressed my mouth to his ear, I whispered,

"stay with her, love her, do this with her,"

And I withdrew my face and smiled, indicating Yuko beside him with my eyes. Then I moved on. I never saw his reaction.

-oOo-

_  
Seiji  
_**  
**Out in the ante room we stopped. Now we had the technical stuff, signing the register making it official for the tax man. There was a desk and chairs and more flowers and we did the necessary. People crowded round and lots of photographs were taken. Then it was out to the hotel foyer among the greenery where we had a lot of official pictures taken. This was quite enjoyable, my chance to chat to people to move independently of her. When she was being photographed with her parents and Kinu I took a moment to look at her. Damn, I thought randomly, the guy who married her would be one lucky person.

Then after _that_ we had to do our quick change into European dress for the reception. Everyone stayed in the foyer while she went upstairs to our suite with Kinu and two lady assistants from the hotel staff, I was led into a simple office by another of those ever present obsequious _Seiyo Ginza_ staff and Jiro came with me, mostly to chat and keep my nerves from fraying, keep my head on more or less level.

I was married. It felt odd saying that, things didn't seem different yet.

I put on a cream silk morning suit. It wasn't quite totally Italian tradition but it was an Italian suit. It was exquisite, beautifully made. I'd chosen just a purple silk cravat at the throat and a small purple chrysanthemum in the lapel. We'd decided on this colour because her straw hat had a purple band and that was a link to our first meeting. What soppy old romantics, hm? I'd wanted to hire the outfits but dad, once again, had his way. I'm not going to tell you how much it cost because he refused to tell me. _I'm worrying about all that_ he'd said, _that's my job._ Well, I'm here to tell you that he did his job bloody well. I was changed and ready long before her. Dad had arranged with the hotel to have a network of assistants from their staff manning phones and so on, just to let people know when things were happening. It was all very slick and professional. There was a knock at the door and a guy stuck his head round.

"the bride is coming down, if you would please, sir…" and he gestured for me to come.

I waited at the bottom of the stairs. The _Seiyo Ginza_ foyer is exceptionally well designed if you want to make a spectacular entrance. There is a wide marble staircase sweeping up from the foyer to the first floor. It's a fine staircase. I waited at the bottom of it and for five minutes was the centre of attention, some of the ladies seemed especially taken with the suit. We were chatting away and making jokes when suddenly people weren't looking at me or talking to me any more. They stopped and looked up above my head as though a hot air balloon was passing over very low, the kind of event that makes you look up and watch.

I turned. I looked. And I was smitten. There was a vision from paradise coming down the stairs. It was creamy white, it was big, it fanned out in a huge sweeping shape like a giant meringue. It was (she was) spectacular. The skirt was a huge fluffed out affair of satin but held up by layers of petticoats of organza, tulle and heaven knows what else. It was overlayed with chiffon and other filmy flowing things. The waist was pinched in tight and the bodice also. There was fine embroidery on the bodice. The top was indecently low and everything spilled out of it but her upper bosom and throat and shoulders and arms were covered tightly by a creamy white gauze material, I found out later it was a very fine silk, transparent. A cream satin band formed a choker at her throat and again at her wrists where there was some lace detail, in fact the actual styling was very simple. Her bouquet was a mix of cream and purple, just those two colours and there were a couple of cream and purple flowers in her hair. She'd been growing her hair longer this last year and it had been restyled yet again after the service. During the service it had been drawn up tight in a formal bun and she'd had to have a hair piece fixed on top because her natural hair wasn't long enough, but now her hair was still up but in a looser, more, well, _crumpled_ style. It was gorgeous, formal but with a hint of disassembly about it, bits hung down and other bits scrunched about and fluffed out and it worked great. It was a modern girl's style. I like short hair on a girl, it's practical and quick and you can do interesting things with it and a palmful of gel and a comb but this I liked, this was spectacular. It suited her.

She came down slowly, moving elegantly, Kinu a few paces behind. Well, as far as I was concerned she could take as long as she liked, the view from here was something I could easily enjoy for an hour or two. Pictures were taken. Then she was beside me. I must have had an odd expression on my face because she looked at me and raised one questioning eyebrow as she sometimes does.

"Well, man in a suit, have you got a date tonight?"  
"No, I'm at a loose end right now, would you like to join me for dinner and maybe a dance later?"  
"Well, seeing as I have nothing better to do, that would be nice. But only if you're a gentleman, I _am_ a lady you know."

I gave her a wink,

"Is that so? What a pity. I was hoping you wouldn't be."

She gave me a glare,

"What do you mean? I'm a married woman, so don't push your luck."  
"I think you're the one pushing your luck, picking up strange men hanging about in hotels."  
"I didn't know you were strange."  
"I am. Very. You'll find out later."  
"Good, I'll look forward to it."

She shone me a wide angelic smile like butter wouldn't melt and Jiro indicated it was time to move. We entered the reception room. Again, more flowers, more music, more photographs, more of everything. It was a dream. I found myself agreeing with dad in the end, maybe he was right after all.

-oOo-

_  
Shizuku  
_**  
**The change from the kimono into the dress which should have been quick and ordinary turned out to be anything but. Kinu and a hairdresser and another girl from the hotel went with me. The main room of our suite was embarrassingly big and beautiful. I really wasn't in the mood to be ashamed of undressing; there were simply more important concerns on my mind. I stripped to my skin in front of them and put on the underwear. This had been fun to buy. I wanted something in white obviously but it had to be sexy as well and Yuko and I had gone into Tokyo for it. As it happens we weren't far from here, in the Ginza shopping district. I saw it on a mannequin in a lingerie store. It was a bustier in a pale cream with little satin flower bud detail. It was just beautiful, the bra cups were very low and left the bust mostly uncovered which would be perfect under the dress. It was boned and there was a proper lace up back so you couldn't put it on alone, it had to be laced up by someone else. There were suspender straps which meant wearing stockings for the first time in my life. We chose a white pair, very elegant they were, very sheer with a reinforced sole and heel and a back seam. So expensive. Kinu put the bustier around me and began to lace it. It was very tight and squeezed my waist down which was a new experience, I had to take shallow breaths. She was good at this, she laced it up well. The top pushed my boobs up spectacularly. Then the stockings, making sure the seams were perfectly straight and the suspender drops were at the right places so the stockings didn't get twisted round. Finally a little pair of see through panties and the high heeled shoes. Everything in cream. I turned round from the mirror to face her.

"How do I look? Do you think he'll be able to resist?"

Kinu stared at my front, then up at my face. She went pink.

"Nobody could resist. You look great."

She turned to fuss about with something on the bed and a thought came to me. I spoke to the ladies from the hotel,

"Excuse me, but would you mind waiting outside a moment, I'd like to talk in private with my friend."

Obediently they vanished.

"Kinu."  
"Hm?"  
"What is it?"  
"It's nothing. We need to hurry up, everyone is waiting."  
"Let them wait. Talk to me."  
"There's nothing to talk about."

She still had her back to me, was pretending to move things about on the bed. I went up to her and took her arm, turned her around. Again that look, she looked down at my front first, then up at my face. Just like boys do: legs, groin, chest, face, exactly in that order. I guessed what that might mean.

"No luck with the boys yet then?"

She shook her head.

"You are looking aren't you?"

No answer. She stared at a space on the floor between us. I decided to lead her,

"No, you're not looking are you?"

Another shake of the head.

"Are you happy being single?"

Another shake.

"What you're looking for isn't a boy is it?"

One more shake. Well, this was a new one on me. So many new experiences in this past year. Given this news it would have been right of me to cover myself up but all we had was the huge dress on the other side of the room on its hangar and the kimono I'd just taken off. Everything else was in the suitcases. Wearing nothing but pretty lingerie wasn't the best outfit in which to find out one of your best friends was a lesbian but I had little choice. What should I do? The good person in me wanted to help but that good person also didn't want to pry. It really was none of my business. But something sinister drew me on.

"Why didn't you tell me? I could have discussed it with you. I mean, I wouldn't have asked you to do this if I'd known."  
"Shizuku, its fine. I am me and you are you, we don't need to talk about this now. This is your day, let's not spoil it."  
"I want you to be happy, that's all, I just want to try and help."

She looked even worse, she looked like she might cry. If this was upsetting her so much, why _had _she agreed to be my attendant? Then an awful, awful thought entered my head. It made me feel bad.

"Kinu, it's not me is it?"

Instead of a shake this time she made a tiny nod. _Oh, my God, no._ This was awful, it was Sugimura and me at the shrine all over again. Only worse. I moved at once to the cream dress, took it from its hangar and held it in front of me. Being in underwear wasn't fair on her. I knew how much I had hurt poor Sugimura that day,

_lets just stay friends  
_  
was such a cheap and cruel line. I hadn't the heart to say the same thing to Kinu. I went to her,

"Since when?"  
"Years, Shizuku, years," her voice was so small, almost a whisper, like a fluttering little bird, "Since you got together with Seiji really. I felt really happy for you at first but then I began to imagine you two kissing. Only when I thought of you I didn't wonder how nice it would be to kiss him, but to kiss you. Oh, I'm so sorry Shizuku, this isn't the time or place for this. Please, let's just drop it."

I was stunned. This poor girl who I liked so much, who was so sweet and such a good friend, who I'd laid next to in Yuko's tent and scoffed sweets all night with. Her sleeping bag had been next to mine. In the cool of the night we had pressed together and shared the warmth of our bodies. And all the time inside she'd been hurting.

"Kinu, you are such a good person, such a help to me. I can't leave this subject, we do need to talk about it and it hurts me to say that we can't talk today, but another day. Yes? As soon as I get back from honeymoon I'll call and we will talk. I like you so much, I don't want to hurt you."  
"I understand Shizuku. This is your day. You've only been married an hour, you can't talk about these things after being married an hour."  
"I'm sorry."  
"It's fine. Look time is getting on, you need to dress. Let's call the assistants back in."

And that was how we left it. And oh, how I wish now that I hadn't left it there. There would be another chance to sort it all out wouldn't there? How wrong, how very wrong I was. Kinu, I am so sorry. But today was my wedding day and on a day like this there is no stopping, no turning aside, such a day has a momentum of its own and no one can resist it, that was the tragedy.

I was perfumed again, dressed and the hotel lady did my hair. Once I was in the beautiful dress there wasn't much for Kinu to do. She was assisted by the second girl and changed from her kimono into a western style bridesmaids dress of lilac with cream detail. She was ready first and stood at the window and looked out into the street. I looked at her back and wondered what she was thinking. This discovery had made me so sad but the day had to go on, I would be happy, while she was unhappy. The unfairness of it all made me angry. Made me hurt.

And then we were done and it was time to go. I picked up the bouquet and we organized the final few bits and pieces and went downstairs.

-oOo-

_  
Seiji  
_**  
**The meal and the speeches were a blur to me. The afternoon was magnificent but stodgy, we were trapped in a program of events. Sure I enjoyed it and the food was wonderful but we were fixed in place, we had to do certain things at certain times in certain ways. But despite that, everything went fine, it just wasn't my favourite part of the day. Sharing this meal with her though was like a heavenly reward for something miraculous I'd done. I had no idea what I'd done to deserve this, all I could think of was years old; getting her to see my name on some library tickets and then playing a song for her didn't seem effort enough for this reward. With the formal meal over there were more photographs, the cutting of the cake and then the clearing of the dance floor. And then the really fun part of the day began, the music, the dancing, the drinking.

I had chosen all the music, every single piece and I'd structured it so the evening would have a certain shape, I was playing with the mood, pushing it in certain directions at certain times. It had taken three or four days of long discussions with Kita, Minami and Suzuki, the leader of the band Minami knew. We'd sat down, I'd scribbled down hundreds of music and song titles and we ground our way through them, binning some, adding others, slowly getting them in order. The other three suggested changes too and occasionally we'd stop and have a short jamming session to try the end of one song and a fade into another to see if they worked back to back. All this effort from them was fantastic, well beyond what was expected of them and I'm so grateful for their time and input. I am pretty sure dad made it worth their while in the way he does best. I don't know Minami _that_ well, although these days of working on the music brought us closer together. But he was very close to grandpa, probably his closest friend. And while we were working I caught him looking at me a few times in an odd way. You know, I think I know why he was doing this, all this hard work. It wasn't for me necessarily, he was honouring someone else. And that was fine by me.

Do other grooms organize the evening music like this? I don't think so, at least no-one I've spoken to has. There must be some other totally love struck fools who do and it was all done for her. I wanted to shape the evening for her, putting moods and emotions before her for her enjoyment. In a way it was like crafting a violin, getting everything exactly right. Or maybe it was more like speaking to her. A long monologue of my emotions, my love. I chose only two types of song; love songs (and happy love songs at that, no sad ones) and upbeat happy dance tunes, songs that made you want to get up and just _do it_ on the dance floor. There was one song that I spent ages thinking about. The first dance, the first song when we'd dance alone and which was an opportunity for me to say something special. _Ode to Joy_ was a possibility but rather an odd tune to use to open a dance. There were a couple of things I'd written myself but I wanted to save them for later. So in the end it came down to the one I really should have chosen at the beginning without even thinking about it. It was a fairly lightweight pop song from the 1970s that was well known in Japan and didn't actually fit my love songs / dance songs theme. The version that was popular in Japan was one sung by a British female singer and had an upbeat tempo. But that was a cover version. The original was written by an American, and had a significantly slower tempo and some fairly melancholy overtones to it. But we would be doing a formal dance, arm in arm and so despite it's less upbeat feel, I chose the John Denver original. If the band kept it slow it was actually quite a good tune to dance formally to. And of course whenever I heard it, I heard her voice, her small wavering untrained voice that she'd had when she was fourteen.

The final toast had been drunk. With everything ready, with the band waiting and smiling knowingly, Shizuku's dad stood up.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please. Everyone, thank you. We have enjoyed a wonderful meal this afternoon and I hope some of the speeches weren't too odd. But there comes a time at every wedding when we can, at last, unbutton our collars, loosen our ties, roll up our sleeves, perhaps kick off our high heeled shoes and relax. That time is now and of course it begins, as it always should, with a dance by the two most important people. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, one last time before we all enjoy ourselves in a quite different way, the bride and groom."

He turned to me and held out an arm. I nodded, stood and looked at her. Another of those sunlit smiles was on her face and she placed her hand on my proffered arm and stood also. We walked around the table and onto the centre of the dance floor. The lights dimmed. Some fool who I'd _not_ arranged with turned a spotlight on us (reminder to myself to go and whack him later). I placed my left hand on her waist, she placed her right on my shoulder. I held out my right arm and she lightly laid her left hand in my right. She gave me a slight squeeze, a special squeeze. I didn't see anything else once the music started, I have no idea how well we moved, and I don't care if it went right or not. It _felt_ right. All I know is that I looked only at her face. _Take me Home, Country Roads_ was the song, as you've probably guessed, and from that first song the day became something quite different, something really intensely special. There were over 200 people in the room but at times as far I was concerned 198 of them didn't exist.

-oOo-

_  
Shizuku  
_**  
**I want to mention one detail. The cake was on a table by itself at one side of the room. I'd given the Baron and Baroness to Kinu and yesterday when she'd come to help set up she'd placed them behind the cake and from there they silently and calmly watched the day go by. As the meal and the speeches went on, I'd steal a glance at them from time to time. Kinu had placed his hat and cane in his left hand and raised his right so that she could place her hand on his. They looked so right together and I took comfort in feeling the love I knew was invested in them by two other hearts, two hearts that no longer beat but which for me had become such a strong example.

The evening was the best part of the whole day, a day full of fantastic moments and new stunning experiences, but the evening dance was particularly special. I don't know who the band and singers were but Seiji knew some of them through old friends of grandpas and they played some fantastic music. I assumed Seiji had asked them to play certain songs, and of course the first dance was definitely his choice but for the rest of the time it was like they could see inside my head and played things I knew or liked or that were special tunes we both had good memories of. I'm sure Seiji had a hand in this.

After the first dance it was traditional for the four parents to dance with us as well and the bridesmaid and best man to dance as a couple. I watched them, they seemed to flow together well and if I hadn't had the conversation upstairs earlier I'd have suggested that Kinu spend time with Jiro, he was a good looking guy, very placid, and well organized, but sadly I knew that wasn't going to happen.

And then, in mid-evening, before things became completely random and people just got silly, Seiji called a halt and we played and sang our set. I was so nervous before hand. The band was on low raised staging in one corner of the dance floor, a far corner away from the top table. Seiji led me over and up the step. I had the lyrics for about six songs in my head and I'd been practicing hard. Yuko who had a fair voice had helped my preparation. Seiji took up his violin, I took up a microphone and, my tummy fluttering with nerves, we began. We started gently with the Beatles song _Here Comes The Sun_ which I love because its so cute and for a starting song its fairly simple and I found its simplicity helped the nerves. Next was _I'm With You_, an Avril Lavigne song that has such a great melody and flows through me every time with such hope. During this one I found myself getting into it and moving a little with the music, just a simple thing on the spot from the hips but the whole song was so infectious. For the Beatles tune everyone had just watched and listened but something good happened during _I'm With You_ and people began to dance which I took as a huge complement. Third came _A Thousand Miles_ by Vanessa Carlton and this was a song we'd sung together many times to the radio, Seiji and I, in the early days when he had set his heart on his ten years in Italy and I'd not yet decided what I was doing. Then we really let our hair down and did two fast funny songs: _She's a Rebel_ by Green Day (which was a poke at my dad) and _Accidentally in Love_ by the Counting Crows both of which are such fun tunes. I found myself going to another place now, the nerves just went. Seiji played with a wild passion, wringing little twists out of the ends of the notes like the stubborn curls in his hair and I danced, it was just pure joy. I finished the lyric to _Accidentally_ but he kept the tune going, playing another two verses instrumental, and I danced. I felt so alive, so much energy came from him and into me then out again in a steady flow, it was a lovely song. As _Accidentally in Love_ ended, Seiji took my microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen. Friends. Mom and dad. Um, well, both moms and both dads. We are going to do one last song together. Apart from the band, Shizuku's singing partner Yuko, and an elderly lady who isn't here tonight,"

_Seiji, please don't, I don't want to cry tonight_

"…nobody else has heard this song. None of you. This is a tune I wrote three years ago. It was one of the first pieces I ever wrote and despite my best attempts to hopelessly mangle it, it somehow survived to the stage where it was playable and didn't attract every tomcat within a mile radius. My wife,"

_wife. My wife. What a lovely word_

"…heard it when we were in Italy in 1996 and she has since written a lyric to it. If there is any song tonight other than the one we danced to in our first dance, that can be called our song, then this is it. I am desperately, desperately in love with the lady who is about to sing, and every word she sings is one I own, there is so much truth in these words that I go to heaven each time she sings it. Please, my friends, if you would listen, this is _A Song About Us_."

Baka! I told you I didn't want to cry tonight, and here I was supposed to sing and you'd just blocked my throat with a great big lump. The single violin intro began and it hurt me to hear it, the sweetness was like a bitter pain. I wasn't ready and I gave him a signal to go round again with a verse and the intro once more. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I was in Italy. It was summer, such a burning hot day. The _komorebi_ under Uncle Anton's vine was beautiful and mellow. She sat there, the old lady watching him play, listening to heaven flow out of his violin. The second intro ended, this was it, my cue. I breathed in again, opened my eyes and sang.

_Stranger you know inside me,  
I measure the time and I stand amazed.  
Stranger I know inside you,  
my hand is outstretched toward the damp of the haze.  
And of course I forgive, I've seen how you live,  
like a phoenix you rise from the ashes.  
You pick up the pieces  
but the ghosts in the attic they never quite leave.  
And of course you forgive, you've seen how I live,  
I've got darkness and fears to appease  
my voices and melodies  
and visions like ribbons worn bright on my sleeve.  
Stranger we know each other._

_Stranger I fit into you,  
there's a distance erased with the greatest of ease.  
Stranger you fit into me,  
a gentle warmth filling the deepest of needs.  
With each passing day the stories we say  
draw us tighter into our addiction,  
confirm our conviction  
that some kind of miracle passed on our hands.  
And how I am sure like never before  
of my reasons for defying reason,  
embracing the seasons we dance through the colours  
both followed and led.  
Stranger we fit each other._

_Stranger certain the journey,  
time unfolds the petals for our eyes to see.  
Stranger this journeys hurting,  
in ways we accept as part of fates decree.  
So we just hold on fast, acknowledge the past  
as lessons exquisitely crafted,  
painstakingly drafted  
to carve ourselves instruments that play the music of life.  
For we don't realize our faith in the prize  
unless it's been somehow elusive,  
how swiftly we choose it  
the sacred simplicity of you at my side._

I finished singing and he let the melody go on. He drew it onwards further than I'd heard before. It went winding gently like a warm wind over long grasses, like a breeze rippling water. I just stood there watching him with an aching warmth inside me. I studied how he played. I recalled a boy, young and clumsy, a boy who stood in a basement workshop and who, when he played, screwed up his eyes and furrowed his brow in concentration, who looked carefully at his fingerwork, carefully making sure he found each note. This wasn't that boy, tonight this was someone else. Five years had passed over him and he was a man. He played confidently, he almost played without trying, without effort. The bow swept smoothly and sweetly wherever he exactly needed it. His fingers seemed to just be where they had to be and it wasn't him moving them. And he didn't close his eyes or watch what he was doing. He looked at me. And of course I heard his words. Words of love. I could see how good he was. He was also free, there was no burden on his shoulders now, no shadow of someone else stood over him. He was alone and he was doing this. Perfectly. He let the tune wind down until it faded away. I hadn't wanted to cry today but this song, singing something this true in this place to his violin had been more than I could bear. The tears were tears of joy, their hurt was like the caress of an angel. I stepped a pace or two to him and fell into his arms. A roar of applause from the wedding guests filled the room. I had to go and sit down and compose myself, I was completely messed up inside.

As I sat with friends fussing around me, Kinu was suddenly there.

"Shizuku, that was beautiful, you can really sing. I think hearing that from you has been a help to me. Listening to those words I can see how much he means to you, and you to him. I can't say how but I feel better for hearing it, it's cleared up many things for me. Thank you very much."

Before I could speak she turned away and moved into the crowd. Someone else mentioned it me later, but I'd not even noticed that she'd been crying.

-oOo-

_  
Seiji  
_**  
**The evening was great. We danced like mad and everyone seemed to have a good time. We had a short section of daft mindless J-Pop and then moved into a folk section which started gently with some lovely Irish tunes and gradually worked up into faster tunes like jigs and reels until the dance floor was whirling like a mad fairground. The band were really good at this, they improvised and went off in all sorts of interesting directions. I even joined them for a while on violin again. That was fun. I then had a slow section of gentle songs for people to recover and I held her close. We were too tired to put much finesse into the dancing now and people drifted in pleasant half-upright pairs around the floor. But at the end I wound it way up again and we finished on some craziness such as _Take on Me_ by A-Ha, _Echo Beach_ by Martha and the Muffins and of course _Love Shack_ by the B52s.

One of the bonuses of your wedding is you get to leave first and let everyone else carry on to make idiots of themselves. We'd arranged for the band to stop and get some rest and as we left a DJ took over and I understand from stories I picked up the next day that some really wild stuff went down with people going mad all over the place. Sounds like we missed a fun time.

But that didn't bother me, because what happened upstairs in our room was something I wouldn't have missed for anything. I took my violin up with me and when we went in Shizuku disappeared into the bathroom. I took number 11 from her case and played. I played _Ode to Joy_ from the Ninth and ran through it twice while she was doing whatever it was she had to do. When she came out she had taken off that amazing dress and put on a white sheer long chiffon robe. She lay a hand on the violin bow and lifted it away and lay it on a table. Then she took the violin from under my chin and lay that carefully aside. Then she showed me what was under the robe and I confess that night I became a total convert to beautiful lingerie. We did eventually sleep but the journey we had on the way there is one I will not forget no matter how long I live.

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28 -31 December 2006

For further author notes about chapter 18 see my forum (click on my pen name)

Yes, I know some of the songs I mention didn't exist in 1999. However this is fiction, its even fiction based on fiction so I feel I'm justified in bending reality to suit my story in such a small way.

_A Song About Us_ is actually _Eric's Song_ by the gorgeous and talented Vienna Teng, the woman with the most emotion-inducing singing voice alive today in my opinion. If you've not heard it please try and listen to a copy, plenty of copies are around in mp3 format on the net. I have changed a couple of words to better fit the situation of my characters. I'd been writing my own lyric but I wasn't happy with it and when I first heard this I was amazed – it was exactly the sort of song I needed, even _exactly_ the right words. And I do mean _exactly_. As I've said elsewhere in my notes, sometimes I'm blessed by amazing luck while writing and there are some lines in that song which could have been written with my fan fic in mind so I just gave up trying to better it and simply cheated and used it. _Eric's Song_ has a single piano accompaniment and it takes a background role to Vienna's voice but if you listen carefully there is a very nice melody in there and I can imagine as an instrumental played on a violin in a summer's garden (see Chapter 9: Summer of 96 Pt.4 - and not the chapter 9 as listed by ff dot net which is my Chapter 8) it would be a lovely sound.


	20. Ch 19 Funeral for a Friend

**Chapter Nineteen - Funeral for a Friend **

They had never been together like this, for so long as this, and in quite this way. Even though this was two weeks and Cremona that first time had been three. In Italy he had worked nearly every day and sometimes had been so tired in the evenings he'd gone early to bed. But here they were never out of each others sight. They woke together, brushed their teeth together, breakfasted together, experienced days and nights, walked, swam, ran, laughed, loved. This was marriage; they were new at it and they tried it out and found it had a pleasing flavour, a taste all its own, a newness, a difference. At the end of doing something, at the dusk of the day there was no goodbye, there was no last kiss at a station or at the steps of her _danchi_ or a hurried goodbye hug while he sat on his bike. At the end of each day there was each night and then the next day, and the next. It was new. And it was good. They decided they had waited too long for this.

They went up to the north of Honshu, to Aomori Prefecture and found a small cranky hotel on the shoreline of Shimokita peninsular overlooking the Tsugaru strait towards Hokkaido. It was cooler here and wetter and even in early May the spring was only just here. The blossom was hardly beginning on the trees and the first blooms of wild flowers were like stars on the forest floors. They brought warm coats and walking boots and went out on the hills and in the woods behind the hotel or along the shoreline. Some days they would meet no-one but the wind and his lover, the rain. They might stand in a forest and smell the rain, the earthy wetness; they might stand on a hill and smell the wind or they might be on a rocky beach and smell the sea. But at the end of the day they would stand in their bedroom and smell each other, inhaling with all their senses. This was love, and they could not get enough of it.

One of the gifts Shizuku's parents had given them was a pair of mobile phones. They had the same number except for the last digit. Hers ended in a zero, his in a one. Symbolism was alive and well in Asako's heart. For the simple newness of it they would walk a mile or two apart down the rocky shoreline or across the hills and make love to each other by phone.

-oOo-

But two weeks isn't long and it was soon over. They returned on the train to Tama and reality, in more ways than one. First, they had nowhere to live. They had a date fixed for their departure, in the middle of July. But now it was the middle of May and there had seemed little point in renting an apartment for just two months. Yumiko had offered them the Earth Shop but Shizuku declined, it would not be right, she felt like an intruder there, the Earth Shop had been an important place to her once and her life had once swung on a hinge there but not now, now things had moved on and she felt it would not be right to go back there. She did not want him in her parents small apartment and he didn't want her in his family house, even though Yumiko made the offer. His dad had only grudgingly agreed and that was as good as a 'no' for him. So, bizarrely, they slept apart for two months. Each day he would work in his workshop or teach students, she worked at the manga publishers office. She'd decided to stay on at this job, it was the one she'd enjoyed the most, it was variable, it taught her much and the people didn't have knives in each others backs every day. Some days, yes, but at least it wasn't open warfare. She spent the evenings at his house, sometimes in the workshop if he worked late, sometimes in the family room. She'd quietly write or read or they might go out and watch a movie. It was an odd disjointed time.

It was made odder and harder because she died. It had actually happened while they were up in Aomori, three days before their return. When she got back, her mom showed her the local paper.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

**TAMA STUDENT SUICIDE**

Trains were severely disrupted on Wednesday evening when police were called to remove a body from the tracks east of Suginomiya station. The person had apparently jumped from the Teikyo bridge into the path of the 8:12pm from Ochikawa.

The body has been identified as that of 19 year old Seto Kinu, formerly a student of Tamagaoka high school who had begun her first year at Nishi Keakidai University in April. Police have stated the death was suicide and are not investigating any suspicious circumstances.

A neighbour of the Seto's said she was devastated by the news, "Kinu had always been a bright happy girl and while she didn't seem to have many friends she had been a model student, very successful in her studies". The girl's parents declined to comment.

Keio suburban services out of Tokyo centre were back to normal by ten o'clock that evening.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Shizuku put the paper down. She placed her palms flat on the page, smoothing the paper, stroking it, trying to get some contact with the words. Her head came down and she touched her forehead to the page.

"Kinu. Kinu, Kinu, _Kinu_. No. Oh, no, no, please God, no. Not Kinu, not you. Please not you. _Please!" _

She moaned, she groaned in pain, she lifted her head and felt a hard blackness inside her, a horrible vile flavour that burned, she had to let it out. The darkness came bursting up suddenly as a scream; she bawled, she howled and the pain that filled her had no end. She picked up the paper and ran out of the kitchen, out of the apartment, down the stairs and along streets, running she knew not where. Her lungs hurt from the raw effort of running, they were sore, her muscles ached, her head ached and her heart pounded, she hardly saw where she was going, it seemed to be raining heavily. She eventually stopped running and found herself near her old school, on the steps close to Kompira-guh. It was evening but it was May and still light although the sun was dipping down now and the grove of trees was gloomy. She walked in, sat on the steps of the shrine and hated the world. She called it all manner of names, all the foul words she knew and when she ran out of curses she raved wordlessly at it and howled some more, her spirit groaned and ached, she wept, hopeless sobs of agony and hate poured out of her.

"Why, Kinu?"

That was the question. Why? Kinu, why? Shizuku couldn't imagine taking her own life, it was alien to her, she'd always had so much, so much to live for. What must be inside a person that made them do this? She had no idea, she couldn't connect to that at all, and that is what made it worse. Her mobile rang. She ignored it. She couldn't begin to get inside Kinu's head. All she could think of was the last time they'd spoken, in her hotel room when Kinu had confessed her love. And that made it even worse because the only thing she could find in that conversation to get a handle on was herself. But she refused to take the blame, she knew that was a stupid and dangerous path to take. Guilt trips achieved nothing and she wouldn't go there. No, she wasn't to blame. If anything she'd offered to help, at least she hadn't run away from Kinu; she'd promised to help.

"Why, Kinu, why? What were you feeling? What were you thinking? Why? Please, God, I'm begging you, tell me why she did it."

She might never know. Her mobile rang again. She looked at the screen. It was Seiji. She answered the call.

"Shizuku, where are you?"  
"At the shrine. At Kompira-guh, near the steps."  
"Your mom called, she said you ran out the house. Are you alright? What is it?"  
"You know Kompira-guh don't you Seiji?"  
"Of course. Shall I come?"  
"Yes. As quickly as you can. Please hurry."  
"Are you alright?"  
"I'm not hurt or in trouble, but just please come quickly."

Kinu had been in love with her for five years. Five years of longing and pain. Of hopeless unending ache. But people went through that all the time didn't they? And they didn't do this, did they? They got over it. So why you, Kinu?

Why? Why?

Why?

No answer came. A breeze rustled through the leaves, the sunlight began to fade. The rays were low now and slanting between the trees. Shizuku looked up at the high branches. The chatter of the leaves in the wind was like the far away sea. She stood up and turned to go up the steps of the shrine. It was always open and small bowls of offerings were inside, piles of seeds, a brown dry cob of corn from last summer, the sad refuse of prayers, of people's hopes. Shizuku decided to do at least something, she wanted to leave something but all she had was the newspaper. She went outside and pulled up some small thin green sticks of bamboo, she broke these into lengths and wove them together to make a mat, it was a few inches square, it was enough. She wandered the grove of trees for a while and picked some wild flowers, some young green leaves from the trees. Finally she tore the newspaper article out and laid it on the woven platter and scattered the leaves and flowers on top. It was pathetic but it was all she could do. At least it came from the heart. She went back into the shrine, kicked off her shoes and asked permission to enter, apologizing that she wasn't clean. She knelt on the floor and laid her offering down.

"Please God, whoever you are, whatever you are, please take care of Kinu. I don't know if people who take their own lives are worthy to come into your presence but please make an exception for Kinu. When I knew her years ago she was a happy fun loving girl. That's the person she was and that's the person she can be if you let her be with you. That's all I ask. Make her happy again. I will remember her and think of her and one day we'll meet again and then I'll say sorry to her properly. I know you love her so please keep her safe until then for me. Thank you."

Some of the flowers she crushed between the rolled palms of her hands and their scent filled the room. The tears stopped flowing. Her little woven mat wasn't much but it was at least honest and that would do. It was good. She lay down on her side on the floor and thought of nothing, letting the sound of the distant sea outside sooth her. She closed her eyes. For a few precious moments she found peace.

"He is coming."

She opened her eyes. The voice had been small and in her head, as though it was herself. She thought,

"Who are you?"  
"I am everything. But he is love and he is coming."

The voice was quite clear but still inside her, not outside, in. She knelt up, it seemed stupid to ask the question again but she couldn't help it.

"Who are you. Please?"  
"He is here, he is love, go now."

Feeling confused but also excited she stood and went to the entryway of the shrine. She looked across the patch of open ground under the trees, a place where she and Sugimura had once upset each other. There was little light now, the sun had set and the gloaming was in the grove of trees. She heard movement and then he came.

"Shizuku? Is that you?"  
"Seiji!"

She went down the steps and he caught her and held her. She didn't cry any more, she had done enough. She just needed to be held up, held together, helped along.

"What's the matter? What happened?"

So she told him. They sat on the edge of the shrine floor and she told him everything. Absolutely everything, even the conversation she'd had with Kinu in the hotel room. He didn't interrupt. He let her spew it out. Then he led her away through the trees and up the steps to the road where his mother sat in their car, the engine running. She took them to his house and because Shizuku was so tired and upset she put her to bed in their spare room. Yumiko telephoned Asako and arranged to go round and collect a change of clothes and to tell her mother that she was alright but Seiji had asked that she stay with them that night.

-oOo-

In the hollow drum of her night Shizuku asked the voice in her head who he was. Again he told her that he was everything and he was always there. If she needed to speak to him he would listen. If she needed love he would give it. If she needed protection she need only ask. If she were afraid he would calm her. Shizuku had never believed conversations like this were possible unless you were mad. The voice sounded like her own voice, the way it sounded when she just thought about things or turned events and conversations over in her mind. And because it sounded like her, part of her thought it was her. But a part of her knew it wasn't, because at the shrine the voice had told her Seiji was there exactly when he arrived. And the answers the voice had given to her questions just now were simply not answers she would have given if this had been a conversation with herself. There was one thing she got from the voice and that was a clear sense that she wasn't mad. Therefore, her mind told her, the voice must belong to another entity. Shizuku lay awake for a while considering this. If it was a bad entity, one who wanted to hurt her, it wouldn't talk like this. It wouldn't have encouraged her at the shrine. She wondered if this was Him, the person she'd felt was with her at the Catholic Chapel. There was no answer to that, no voice responded. She didn't yet want to trust the entity but she got a sense from it that it wasn't bothered by her lack of trust. That could come later. She slept.

-oOo-

The funeral was a few days later. They went but Shizuku felt nothing, she had emptied out everything she had. On the way she picked a few wild flowers at Kompira-guh and placed them on the coffin to be incinerated in the crematorium oven along with Kinu's parent's hopes and dreams.

Afterwards the four of them were at the Seto house where there were drinks and things to eat. As so often at times like this, hardly anything was eaten. Shizuku drank something though and the wine helped, it calmed her. She, Seiji, Yuko and Sugimura stood in a group. At first they didn't say much but then Yuko began talking about junior high school and the good times. That was the best way, to remember the good times, the days they would study together, sometimes three of them, sometimes four or five depending on the subject or who was off chasing some boy at the time. Shizuku recalled the days they'd had lunch together in Kousaka-sensei's office and how they would tell jokes, argue about pop groups or gush over a boy one of them liked. There was even laughter among the four of them and that was good.

Later Shizuku went to find Kinu's mother. She had something to give her. It was a photograph from the wedding reception. Shizuku had got it framed. It was her and Kinu in their western dresses with Shizuku's mom and dad and Kinu's mom and dad. All of them were smiling, and it was a great photo of Kinu, she looked like she hadn't got a care in the world, which was the way Shizuku wanted to remember her and the way she knew her mom would want to. Shizuku had to ask,

"I will understand if you don't want to talk about it, but was there any hint at all? Anything she said or did?"  
"No, Shizuku, nothing, not a thing. It's a complete mystery to us which is what makes it so hard. If she had left a note or something we might have some way of understanding but this way is worse, we have no clue, no reason for it."  
"Do you mind talking?"  
"No, for now I'm fine. Forgive me if I ask you to stop though."  
"Thank you. Was she unhappy at all? That you knew of?"  
"She was very quiet towards the end. When she was younger she seemed to have a lot of friends but as she got older she had fewer. Maybe her school studies were a problem, she did study hard."  
"There wasn't a boyfriend was there or someone she had problems with that you knew of?"  
"No, never a boyfriend that we knew of. She did once or twice bring girl friends home but we hardly got to know them before they seemed to drift off again, and another would be around. Some of them were a little strange, not her usual friends."  
"When was this?"  
"Oh, in the last year or so. This spring especially. One girl was very unlike the others. She was punky, you know, dressed that way with bright coloured hair, always chewing gum. I took an instant dislike to her. But as I said, she showed up a few times and then we saw no more of her. I assume these were friends from university she was meeting, maybe she was getting to meet different kinds of people. But there was never any trouble, you know, with the police or anything, no drinking or drugs or anything like that. There was no alcohol or drugs in her when. When she. I mean afterwards. We were told."  
"I'm sorry, this is hurting you. I'm sorry."  
"No, Shizuku, it's good to talk about it. It helps you know. The problem is just not knowing. Could we have helped? Should we have done something?"  
"Please Mrs. Seto, don't blame yourself over it, it can't make it any better. Being guilty isn't the way. I went through that the day I got the news. I used to be a good friend of hers but we lost touch when I met Seiji and I wondered whether if I'd stayed closer could it have been different, but, no, don't pile guilt on yourself, it serves no purpose."  
"Shizuku, you talk like someone older."  
"I just like to talk really, talking always helps. If people are ever quiet around me I like to make conversation. Sometimes it can be a healer. Well, if I don't say the wrong thing that is."  
"Would you like to see her room?"  
"I'm sorry?"  
"I just thought, as you two were once close that you might like to see her room?"  
"Oh, no, I don't think that would be right, that wouldn't be right. If anyone should go in it should be you."  
"I haven't been in since it happened. I can't bear to."  
"Well, one day when you are able to, you should. That is important I think. You should look through her things. I hope you find something that will give you some answers. I mean, even small things like notes or lists of things. Make sure you read them, little things can be important. She might have been trying to talk to you without, you know, speaking. Maybe she couldn't feel she could talk. About some things. Hm... she might have kept a diary or something like that."  
"Well, in that case, yes. Yes, I will. When I can. Thank you. I have enjoyed our talk. And thank you so much for the picture, she looks so happy in it."  
"That's no problem. I think it might be the last one taken of her, well, apart from those later in the day when she was just a face in a big group photo. So it's the last proper one of her and it's such a nice one. I'd hoped you'd like it."  
"I do, and so will her father. Thank you very much."

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2 January 2007

For further author notes about chapter 19 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	21. Ch 20 Yuko Gets Her Kit Off After Two

**Chapter Twenty – Yuko Gets Her Kit Off After Two Bottles of Chardonnay **

They were on the floor of Yuko's bedroom, the four of them again, in sleeping bags. Shizuku and Yuko had made a real effort to be closer since Kinu went. The four of them had gone out for meals together, gone bowling, seen movies. It had been good, a good summer. There had been times when she had looked carefully at Sugimura trying to detect anything in his face, the thing that had popped into her head as she'd walked down the aisle one minute after becoming a married woman. But there was nothing, he was fine. He'd caught her looking once and the way he'd reacted, with good humour told her everything she needed to know. No old flames there.

Tomorrow they were going. Seiji and Shizuku would be on the one o'clock Japan Airlines flight to Milan. JL417 again, an old friend of theirs. Yuko and Sugi would take them to the airport and of course their moms and dads had agreed to meet them there for a big send off. Sugi would drive them; he'd passed his driving test in the spring. He couldn't afford a car yet so he'd borrowed his dads, so no alcohol for him tonight – the other three drank and wound him up mercilessly over it.

The sleepover was a great way to end it, it was like the good old days. The girls were on one side, the boys on the other. They'd decided to split the couples up because Sugi had said he'd need a good nights sleep and didn't want to be disturbed by the love birds a few feet away banging about on the floor. They lay on their fronts and all faced inwards and there was a pile of snacks and drinks in the middle. Yuko had a new toy, an mp3 player, a little thing it was, about the size of a cassette which played music through her PC. She could wear headphones with it and carry it around like an ordinary personal CD player but the hard drive of the mp3 player allowed her to store hundreds and hundreds of songs on it. This little black box played songs all evening and long into the night without them once having to press a button, or like in the old days, change CDs. It was like magic.

They talked about anything and everything and Seiji again gave them an open invite to come to Cremona whenever they liked, as soon as they could afford to fly out. He had no idea where they'd be living, they'd decided at first to stay in the Hotel Alfonso but he thought that within a couple of weeks they'd be able to find an apartment to rent. He said they would phone them with an address as soon as they found somewhere. But first, Shizuku said, they were going to Germany. She was going to try and hunt down more information about two dolls that Seiji's grandpa had given her. Yuko though that sounded a bit nerdy, but Shizuku's voice when she replied, told her that whatever this was, it was important. So for a couple of weeks at least they'd be in Germany.

It was getting late and the wine didn't help. Shizuku felt a need to tell Yuko something very important.

"You're the last one now, Yuko."  
"Eh? What?"  
"Last one. We're all gone but you, you know."  
"Who? Who's gone? Talk sense you silly woman."  
"You know. The Gang. Don't know what happened to Nao, she moved to Tokyo didn't she? Joined a big bank."  
"Sumitomo Mitsui I think she said."  
"When did you last speak to her?"  
"Her birthday, last October. I phoned her in the evening. She was still in the office apparently. Nine in the evening on her nineteenth birthday and she was working late. Damn, that's sad,"

She took a sip of wine,

"Who works late on their birthday at that age? It's not natural."  
"It's what she wants."  
"She's stupid then."

Shizuku found herself agreeing.

"And Michiko. Mich has gone too."  
"Ah, yes, the tennis girl."  
"Now at university down in Miyazaki Prefecture. Our very own budding tennis pro."  
"Baka! That's sad too."  
"I phoned her mom at the beginning of the year. Got her address. You know I sent her an invite to our wedding. She didn't reply."  
"Now that is even sadder. Cutting ties with your past."  
"And Kinu."  
"Oh, don't Shizuku, please don't remind me of it, it's too sad. No I mean sad sad, crying sad. Not stupid sad like the others."  
"Kinu's gone too."

Shizuku stared at the floor. Tonight wasn't the time to think about that. Yuko took another sip. The Kinu thing had cut her deep as well. People's lives didn't end at nineteen. They began. It reminded her that she was getting older, and still nothing from Sugi. How long did he plan to wait before asking her?

"And now I'm going too. So that just leaves you."

Yuko raised her glass in a mock salute.

"The last warrior maiden, Yuko Harada, Princess of Tama, destined to remain unmarried forever."  
"What?" Sugi had been talking with Seiji.  
"Nothing. Doesn't matter. Go back to your boy talk."  
"I think you've had enough wine Yuko," he said.  
"Certainly not. I don't think I'm even half pissed enough yet."  
"Maybe we should call it a night," Seiji suggested, "what time is it?"  
"Time I was married!" Yuko sang out  
"OK, give me that, that's enough," Sugimura reached for her glass.  
"No problem, here you go,"

Yuko held the glass toward him. Sugimura reached for it and Yuko suddenly lifted it higher and tipped it over his head. He yelped and cursed.

"What the heck did you do that for?"  
"Well if you were married it wouldn't matter, you'd have a loving wife to wash it out."

Shizuku dissolved into a fit of giggles.

"What's so funny?" Sugi's pride had been dented  
"Sugi, just marry her you fool! What's the problem? Look, she's gagging for it!"  
"Don't be rude."  
"I'm gagging to wash your shirts for you, be a good wife. Come on, let me practice, get that shirt off now!"  
"Yuko!" Sugimura pulled back.

Seiji and Shizuku sniggered, trying not to laugh. To hold it in was even worse. It made your sides sore.

"Look, I'll show you how good I am. Let me get this off…" Yuko knelt up, lifted her arms and pulled her pyjama jacket over her head.  
"No! YUKO!" Shizuku shouted in alarm

She threw the shirt away

"Now, I need something that will stain well, red will do."  
"Yuko, for God's sake cover yourself up!" Sugimura began to get out of his sleeping bag.

Seiji held his head in his hands, he was shaking it but the shakes turned into laughter. He couldn't hold it in any more and brayed out a loud snort.

"Seiji! Baka! This isn't funny!"  
"You don't think its funny do you Seiji?" Yuko was well gone now, "look at these," kneeling up she held her breasts out to him with her hands, "you'd marry to get your hands on these wouldn't you?"

He rolled onto his back, shaking with laughter.

"Damn, Yuko, this is _not_ funny!" Sugimura stood up  
"Well _fucking_ marry me then!" Yuko glared at him, swaying a little.

Shizuku could hardly see now, she wiped tears from her eyes. She was laughing so much she had snot running from her nose. She snorted it back up; Seiji saw her and went into convulsions of laughter.

"Yuko, this is hardly the time or place." Sugimura was going red. He wasn't finding it funny.  
"Sugimura?"  
"What?" he rounded on Shizuku,  
"Look, stop being a total jerk and just ask her to marry you."  
"Cover yourself up Yuko."  
"Shan't."  
"Look, for Gods sake, Seiji is here."  
"I'm sure he likes my tits, don't you Sage?"

Seiji cried again, thumping his hand on the floor, tears were running down his face.

"Get dressed, this has gone far enough!"  
"I'll cover them up if you ask me to marry you."  
"That's blackmail."  
"Oh, yes so it is. Ooh, how naughty of me. I tell you what, if you _don't_ ask me then I'll take my pyjama bottoms off as well." She began to climb out of her sleeping bag.

Sugimura had gone very red. Shizuku wondered why he was so prudish. Surely they'd _done it_ hadn't they? He wasn't still a virgin was he? Shizuku had drunk far too much as well, it suddenly occurred to her that this might be a good time to ask him. Then Sugimura reached his limit. He held both hands out to Yuko, palms forward,

"Alright, alright, _enough!_"  
"What?" Yuko actually had her thumbs hooked into the waistband of her pyjama bottoms.  
"Argh! Sugimura! You could have waited another minute. She's nearly finished!"  
"Seiji! Don't encourage her!" shouted Shizuku.

Sugimura was staring at her chest. His face was like a beetroot.

"Look, I'm going downstairs to get something. I want you to cover yourself up Yuko."  
"Mmm, 'kay." She pouted at him.  
"_Before_ I go."  
"Hm, this had better be worth it." She picked up her shirt. Seiji watched her put it on. Shizuku watched him watching her. She was still laughing though.

He went out of the room.

"Yuko, what _is_ the matter with you?"  
"South African Chardonnay I think."  
"You've only had two or three glasses."

Yuko reached behind her along the side her sleeping bag and pulled out another empty, clinked it against the one on the floor.

"Hello second bottle, meet mister first bottle."  
"Um," said Shizuku.  
"You know, Yuko," said Seiji, "that's not a bad pair. If I wasn't spoken for, I'd marry you."  
"Ah, at least there's one proper man in the room."  
"I wonder what Sugi has gone to get?" asked Shizuku.  
"More Chardonnay I hope," said Yuko, "where's my glass?"

There were footsteps on the stairs.

"Ooh, he's coming! Am I decent?"  
"No," answered Seiji, "you've got clothes on." Shizuku sniggered again.  
"Sssh, he's here."

A voice came from outside the door,

"I hope you're covered up."  
"Unfortunately, yes, she is," Seiji replied.  
"Sage, you should be helping me out here," chided the disembodied voice.  
"Well, I'd love to marry Yuko as well but bigamy is illegal."  
"Baka! I thought you'd be on my side. I'm coming in."

Seiji sniggered, he sounded like a cop. The door opened. Yuko was kneeling up, properly covered. Seiji and Shizuku lay there wondering what was about to happen.

"I think you need to stand up."  
"Ooh, going to undress me yourself this time?"  
"Please, stop being silly. Just get up."  
"Oh, what a man, I love you giving orders."  
"Be serious."  
"OK. Right. I'm serious."

She stood. She wobbled a little but stayed upright. Sugimura went down in front of her on one knee. Yuko's eyes went wide.

"Oh my God."

That was Shizuku, she put a hand over her wide open mouth. Sugimura held out a little black box.

"This is your own stupid fault. I've been saving this for the right time but I couldn't find the nerve to do it. Call me a stupid coward if you like. I didn't want to do this tonight but someone forced my hand. Still, I suppose it's nice that we have witnesses so that it's all sort of official and proper. Yuko?"

She gazed wide eyed down at his face. Seiji and Shizuku weren't laughing any more.

"Yes?"  
"Yuko, I want you to marry me. Um. I love you very much. Please accept this."

He opened the box and lifted it up. Yuko took it. She looked at the ring.

"Is that a _diamond_?"  
"Yes. Is it alright? I can change it."  
"Sugi, don't be stupid. If you give a girl a diamond ring and she asks if it really is a diamond, you don't offer to change it. It means she can't believe her luck."  
"Oh, I see. Is that good?"

Seiji and Shizuku exchanged looks. Shizuku found the tears in her eyes were no longer ones of laughter.

"Look if I marry you, you have got to stop being so dim."  
"OK, but if you marry me, you've got to stop taking your clothes off when you're drunk."  
"Even when we're alone?"  
"Yuko! Please be serious."  
"Sugi, how can I be, a marvelous man just asked me to marry him!"  
"_Well_, what's your answer?"

She looked at Shizuku.

"What do I say?"  
"Why are you asking me?"  
"Because you've done this before."  
"Well, I'd say no thank you because I'm already married!"  
"Shizuku! You're not helping!"  
"Well it was a stupid question. Just answer the man, then we can have another drink."

Across the room, Seiji rummaged around for the glasses and another bottle. He began pouring. Yuko looked at Sugimura, she spoke again,

"If we're going to do this properly you'd better get up."

He did so.

"And you should put the ring on my finger."  
"Oh, right. Wait."

He took the ring out and reached for her left hand. She held the fingers a little apart. Shizuku and Seiji were deathly quiet as he slid the ring onto her finger. It was a perfect timeless moment. You could cut the atmosphere with a knife. Shizuku remembered the time her man had done this for her.

"Yuko Harada. I love you very, very much. Please will you marry me?"  
"Yes, of course I will, you great big fool."

They hugged. Seiji and Shizuku jumped up and hugged them both.

"Oh, my God, where's my glass? I need a drink."  
"Is that wise, Yuko?"  
"Definitely. I'm stone cold sober again. I need to get drunk and fast."

Seiji reached for the four glasses he'd filled.

"Not for me, Sage, I'm driving in the morning."  
"Have one Sugi, I think you deserve it."

Seiji lifted his glass.

"A toast. To Sugimura and Yuko. And to a happy and long and _fertile_ marriage!"

They all toasted, and then Sugimura kissed her. Shizuku turned to Seiji.

"Isn't this _great_? What a lovely surprise for our last day."

Seiji agreed that it was. And since Sugimura still hadn't disconnected himself from Yuko's face he decided he deserved a kiss as well.

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2 January 2007

For further author notes about chapter 20 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	22. Ch 21 Introspection

**Chapter Twenty One – Introspection **

_Shizuku – Bavaria – July 1999  
_  
The dawn here was the same as in Japan, the same we'd see from the hilltop, the same air, the same sun, the same colours in the clouds. Yet it felt different. If this was the same world then the difference must be me. The train had been rolling through hilly terrain since it had first begun to get light and I had awoken. I don't know what woke me, but I was suddenly wide awake. I'd pulled a robe over my nakedness, grabbed one of the chemical tab self-heating coffee tins from our traveling supply bag, pulled the curtain a few inches aside and watched the world waking. The coffee didn't taste that great but at least it was hot, it warmed me. He still slept, a folded up warm bundle with a shock of black hair. Hm, he was growing his hair longer wasn't he? I'm sure it hadn't been that thickly down to his collar before. I let him sleep. The train was coasting downhill and had been for half an hour, winding along valleys. The dawn's sunlight didn't reach all the way down into the valleys yet but from time to time it kissed the tops of the hills, the tops of the trees. Occasionally we crossed a stream and they were all the same, white, tumbling and swift flowing over rocks or between pine trees. The towns we went through were a mixture of the kind of quaint old buildings Luisa had spoken about and modern ones that could be anywhere in the world. A few unpronounceable station names went by. To speak this language it seemed you were constantly clearing your throat of phlegm. Not like beautiful Italian, a language for lovers. German was a language for practical people, for soldiers. It was a good language to give orders in. Perhaps that summed up the difference between the two nations. The train slowed and we entered a city. This was it; Munich, a place I knew almost nothing about but if you'd sent me back in time to the 1930s I dare say I could have found my way around well enough. I had the maps after all.

The departure hadn't been as bad as I'd feared. Yes, there were tears and sadness but there had been a sense of newness and hope as well. It had been a wrench to hug and kiss them all for the last time, but at least it wasn't forever, we'd go back and they would come to visit. As my old friend Churchill would say, it wasn't the end, but only the end of the beginning. As we had walked down the boarding bridge to the plane I had turned to look back one final time(1). Yuko and Sugi had been there (she looked a little grey round the edges) but it was mom and dad I looked at, well, both moms and dads. They had all come to see us off and it warmed my heart to see the four of them standing tight together in a close group. A family. Not two families but one. That was good. As they went from sight round the corner three of them had raised arms, waving. And finally, right at the end, Kouichi raised his arm as well. I stopped and raised mine. Finally, the man was thawing. That made leaving so much easier.

The flight had been just a flight. The wonder of air travel had gone. That was one of the problems of growing up wasn't it? Fewer new things to experience. Yes it was good to learn and gain experience of life but in a way the more you discovered, the more slipped away and was lost. Which did I prefer? Both. No, that was selfish, you can't have both. Yes, there was a wonderful excitement in the newness of it all when you were young but you could always look back from a perspective of experience and have the memories. That first take-off when I'd held his hand in fear. I smiled. No problem, I could hold his hand any time I liked.

We had packed only the essentials, as much clothing as we could carry: for him that meant a years supply; for me it meant about two weeks; a violin, the dolls, the laptop, the necessary legal documents, my 'Baron' files and maps, his work files and school certificates, those paper files of mine that I hadn't had time to transcribe onto the computer. Everything else would follow in a container once we were settled in. I'd worked hard the last few months, retyping everything. Making back-up disks that were now at home. And for security a second set in my bank. Take no chances, this was my future. But there had been so much. All the books were now sat in my lap, and almost all the short stories and most of the research material. Mom's old second hand laptop had finally given up under the abuse last winter and I'd bought myself a new one with a much bigger hard drive. That had dented the money I'd been saving from work but this was no luxury, without a laptop these days I was lost, naked. Four times the capacity and half the weight. It sat on my fold down table now. I looked at it: enough reference material to fill a bookcase, nine novels, eleven short stories, one collection of ghost stories and one political rant. Wasn't the computer age amazing? Back home this lot would hurt my back to drag out from under the bed. But there was still more to copy-type. A couple of stories half written needed finishing (every author has them, some of them never get done) and my notebooks needed transcribing. I pulled one of these out and flipped through it, the pages grubby and creased. I came to a very old entry, a rough scribble done quickly, the skeleton of an idea. _The Table_. I never had done anything with that idea, like many it had seemed good at the time but other stuff had elbowed past it in the queue and been served first. I thought back to that room and looked in my mind at that table. The scuffed plastic surface that was so embarrassingly bad, mom kept it hidden under a plastic cover. The old one I'd liked, the one with the cherries. I tried to think what the current one had on it. Sunflowers? Fruit? You know, I couldn't remember. Was that a problem? No, not really, it was just a table cover. I thought about my bedroom, mom's face, dad's smell; a mix of cologne, cigarettes and that dry, sharp, dusty smell that comes off books that have stood undisturbed for a long time. Not a scent I'd choose to pipe around a shopping mall but it was a smell I loved. Yes, they were there, that was good, I wasn't forgetting the important things.

In a random mood I started up the word processor and began typing, small thoughts, ideas, bits and pieces. A few of these joined together and began to feel coherent. I mostly wrote like this these days. I hardly ever started at the beginning and typed until I reached the end. These days I just started wherever I felt the urge pulled me, in the middle somewhere and then worked outwards in random blobs which eventually linked up and became a start, a middle and a conclusion. Once in a while the place I began which I thought was the middle was later moved until it was near the end or vice versa, everything was flexible, mobile. Was this an odd way to write? I've no idea, all I know is that it's the way I like to write. Finally, after three dormant years _The Table_ began its birth pains. Writing was like this sometimes – for weeks or months nothing happened and then the old urge came back and I was off. It felt good, seeing the thoughts appear in front of me, some of them coming into existence without me even consciously willing them. Some of the best ideas came that way, as though from someone else. I didn't mind. My mystery friend wrote some of the best bits, she was a useful person to have around.

I paused. He was watching me. I could feel him. It's strange how the human mind works. You can be focused on something and then a hidden sense tells you another mind is watching you. Sometimes that happens with complete strangers. I suppose it's a primitive thing, a survival instinct from a time when we lived in trees or in caves and needed an awareness of danger.

But with Seiji of course, it happened all the time, sometimes not only could I sense his eyes on me, I could feel them as well, a warmth like sunshine. Just the way it was at our wedding.

I looked at him.

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4 January 2007

For author notes about chapter 21 see my forum (click on my pen name)

(1) Yes, I know that in the real world this would put the six people waving goodbye beyond passport control in the departure area but I crave your indulgence, it was just easier to write it like this. I suppose they could be in another room with a glass wall where they can see the departure area, or they could have gone onto a roof top observation area and I could have wasted time describing that but I just chose to keep it simple.


	23. Ch 22 Do Your Zip Up

**Chapter Twenty Two – Do Your Zip Up, You'll Frighten The Children **

_Seiji – 37,000 feet above the Indian Ocean – July 1999 _

The in-flight movie ended. I hadn't really been watching it, it was just something to kill time. I hummed a tuneless tune for a while. Then I glanced at her. She was writing on her laptop. Her slender agile fingers pecked away at the keys like pretty little birds. I looked at her profile. I could see her thoughts. As they passed through her mind they left traces on her face like the shadows of clouds. Her eyes either looked far away and dreamy as she chased some idea down or they were focused, the lids part closed, as her mind bent some difficult sentence into shape. Her lips might part as she relaxed a little or purse together considering a problem. Or their ends turn up in a smile as she discovered something amusing or turn down in concentration. Her forehead would crease and uncrease as she worried away at something. An eyebrow might raise with surprise. I was reading a book.

She was beautiful, and getting more beautiful all the time. Was she changing as she grew older or was it me? Maybe it wasn't physical but in her spirit.

Or in mine.

This flight was eleven hours long. And I could happily sit here and look at her for all of them.

She stopped typing. She could feel me looking. I knew she could. I could feel her feeling me. This is what love is like. Perfect wordless communication.

She looked at me and smiled. My heart leaped.

"Bored are we?"  
"No," I replied, "Not at all. I've only just started watching you."  
"Hm. Cute reply. Give yourself a point. But you're a distraction."  
"Let me distract you more then. Kiss me."  
"Mmm, no. Something is just getting going here," she indicated the laptop with her eyes, "and I want to get this down before I lose it."

_damn _

"Sure. Carry on."

She went back to work. I continued looking. Tap, tap, tappity, tap, tappity; dainty little birds pecking.

"I mean it."  
"I could make a career of this though."  
"Hm? What?", she didn't look up.  
"Watching you. If you paid me a salary I need never make another violin. I could invest a lot of time and effort doing this. I'm sure there is a proper technique to it. It might take years to perfect."  
"You're rambling again." Tap, tappity.  
"I take it you don't want to talk to me then?"

She looked at me, her eyes sharp.

"Seiji! Put a sock in it why don't you?"  
"Hm, do I take it that's a 'no' on the kiss thing as well?"  
"For now, yes. Now go away."  
"No worries. I'll just step outside the door shall I?"  
"And end it all?"  
"Hm. But my last thought would be of looking at you."  
"Come here."

I leaned close. She kissed me. It was a nice one. Sexy but not too wet. Just right.

"That's your lot. Now leave me alone."

She went back to work. Tap, tappity, tap, tappity. I went back to watching her. I wasn't trying to annoy her, I really just _could not_ stop looking. It was too good a view. After a minute or two she stopped again.

"_Please_. Will you just _stop_ it?"  
"Is your work important?"  
"It might be."  
"What does that mean?"  
"This is good stuff. This might be the story that earns us millions."  
"So more important than me then?"  
"Great, load up the guilt now why don't you?" but she was smiling.  
"There's a way to resolve this dichotomy."  
"That's a big word."  
"All sorts of things about me are big when you're around."  
"Sshhh…"  
"Hm?"  
"Wait one. I'm writing that down. Dichotomy. How do you spell that? Hm…  
L-E-A-V-E. M-E. A-L-O-N-E. I-'M. B-U-S-Y. A-N-D. G-E-T-T-I-N-G. P-I-S-S-E-D. O-F-F."  
"Hm, that _was_ a long word."  
"SEIJI!"  
"Ooh, I love it when you're angry."  
"Seiji, please, I'm getting bloody annoyed now. Please let me write."  
"You said that in your 'I'm getting bloody annoyed now. Please let me write. And there's no chance of a snog anymore, you loser' voice"  
"Amasawa Seiji, sometimes you are totally impossible!"  
"Amasawa Shizuku, sometimes you are totally beautiful."  
"Give up mere male, admit defeat. I am impervious to your sugared tongue."  
"You weren't the other night. I remember you got quite noisy."

No reply. She carried on working. Tappity, tap, tappity. She was trying the 'ignore him' tactic, now. But her face had gone pink. Awww, how cute. Keep chipping away, Seiji, her defences were crumbling. I _would_ get that kiss. A proper one. I stared at her, time for the old crooked smile treatment. Gets her every time.

"I can see you. That won't work."  
"I love you."  
"Seiji, I've only got two words to say to you and the second one is 'off'"  
"I have three words to say to you and I just said them."  
"Alright. Look, if I kiss you will you leave me alone?"  
"Sure."  
"Come on then. Get it over with."  
"No."

I turned my face away and folded my arms.

"_What?_"  
"Well, what kind of talk is that? 'Get it over with.' This is _love_, not a visit to the dentist."  
"Take it or leave it, the offer's on the table."  
"Shan't. Not if you're going to wear that grumpy old face."

She groaned in exasperation. She knew she'd get no peace until I got my kiss, the more she prevaricated, the longer it would take to get back to her writing. I couldn't lose, she had nowhere to run. And she knew it. Unless of course she murdered me.

"Look, Mr. Sarcasm, do you want a kiss or not?"  
"Yes. _If_ you will be nice to me and _not_ behave like a grumpy old witch."  
"And if I kiss you, will you stop looking at me like some depraved pervert, be quiet, and let me work?"  
"Yup!" I grinned.  
"Promise?"  
"Promise."  
"Really?"  
"Really, really."  
"Why don't I believe you?"  
"Because you're sick and twisted?"  
"Is it a battle of wits you want?"  
"Go on, then, if you're in that mood, let's do it."

Anything to keep her away from that laptop.

She saw the opening and drove a horse and cart through it.

"No. I won't fight an unarmed man."  
"Oh, har, har, bloody har."  
"You're not making things any easier for yourself."  
"This is easy? I thought we'd entered into a new mistress-slave relationship or something. Mental torture. Denial of conjugal rights."  
"I can get some handcuffs if that sort of thing appeals to you."  
"You might as well. Then you could get back to the important things in our marriage _like writing_ and not have to worry about bonding with me."  
"Bonding," she snorted, "that was an unfortunate choice of word."

I stayed quiet a moment. Just long enough for her to think I'd given up. She moved her hands back to the keyboard. Tap, tappity…

"I can't change your mind then?"  
"_Seiji!_ I am _this_ close to killing you. Violently. And after that I'll really start hurting you."  
"That's marital abuse. After I'm dead I'll sue you."  
"Just go away. And shut the door on your way out."  
"I'm going then."  
"Bye."  
"Goodbye cruel mistress."  
"You know, it's not at all nice falling to your death from 30,000 feet Seiji."  
"What are you writing anyway?"

I leaned closer, looked at the screen.

"It's not pretty when the human body hits the sea at terminal velocity."  
"That says _spertgrewnploot_. You're writing gibberish. What's going on here? That's not even real work."  
"There's not enough left to feed a seagull."  
"You're not actually even writing a book! You're sick, jeopardizing our marriage for your own selfish mind games."

She suddenly slammed the laptop screen closed, almost slicing the end of my nose off. She moved fast, her hands reached for me and held me either side of my head. Her mouth followed and pressed onto me. I made a squeaky 'help, I'm being eaten alive' sound as I discovered to my horror that I'd married a cannibal and she'd started with my tongue. I moaned at once. This was good, her tongue was everywhere, deep inside me, hot, wet and mobile. I had this crazy image of our first clumsy kisses of four years ago. And now she kissed like this. She was very good at it. Where had she learned to kiss like this while I wasn't looking? I didn't care, I just went with the flow. Her hands moved round to my hair and one of them stroked the back of my neck. Oh, no. Not the back of the neck, the one place above my collar guaranteed to get me going. Someone was making a strange moaning noise and I realized it was me. This was no longer funny. This was good. Mmm, yes. My body responded in the way a man's body does. She moved one hand down my front, down my shirt, stroking. It reached my lap and began to explore. It gripped me and massaged. It was hopeless, I couldn't resist. Then, to my surprise the hand in my lap found my zip and pulled it down. Red lights went on. Alarm bells rang. This was a plane full of people. Panic. The hand was inside my clothing, on my hot flesh, holding, squeezing. That was it, I was out of there. I jumped up and was suddenly standing in the aisle. I must have made a noise because several people were looking at me. I went pink.

"Seiji"  
"_Nngrn,_" was all I could say.

She opened the laptop cover, began typing again. Tap, tappity. Without looking up she said,

"Seiji, if you're going to wander around the aircraft, do your zip up. You might frighten the children."

I looked down, oh, God you could see something. I collapsed back into my seat and covered myself.

"It would have been quicker to kill you, Seiji, but what would I have done to amuse myself tonight?"  
"Are you quite finished?"  
"For now. I'll carry on with _that _later. Now _this_," she indicated the laptop again, "is important. So leave me alone."

I gave her one final look as I adjusted my clothing. I reached for my headphones. Life was never boring.

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4 - 5 January 2007

For author notes about chapter 22 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	24. Ch 23 Night Train

**Chapter Twenty Three – Night Train**

_Seiji – Milano – July 1999  
_  
It was déja vu on a colossal scale. But in a good way, I wasn't puzzled by it and it wasn't worrying. We landed in the early evening and took a taxi to Milano Stazione Centrale. We had landed this time at Malpensa, at the almost completed terminal two. The workmen were still finishing things off but it was an impressive place. Very shiny, very new millennium. So the taxi ride hadn't taken us through the old industrial part of town, the ghosts of old factories, the dereliction, Shizuku's past. I wondered idly if the old factories and warehouses had now all been swept away and new century building was underway. I hoped so, dereliction like that was no way for a city to be. The ghosts of the past were for people to deal with, not for cities to expose to the world. I knew Shizuku had taken the vision she'd had on that strange evening in 1995 and woven a wonderful story out of it, a story of a great man, a pilot with a heart made dark by war and finally made light again by love. That story deserved to be published and I knew she'd taken the first steps in sending her work around to publishers.

Stazione Centrale had been improved a lot. It had been cleaned up inside and had new uplighters installed in the main concourse. Their warm illumination picked out the ribbing and relief in the art deco stonework of the ceiling, the cream of the north Italian limestone was a welcoming covering now, unlike before when it had been cold and dark up there and the fluttering of pigeons invisible in the gloom had made it an unwelcoming cave.

Our night train to Munich didn't leave until just after nine in the evening so we had a drink and read magazines. I was reading some far fetched agony column and looked up. Shizuku had a coffee cup stopped part way to her mouth and had glanced at me. I thought,

_marriage must be like this, just doing ordinary things, just two people relaxing and being mundane  
_  
and then I found myself puzzling over how easily we had slipped into the lives of married people, how we so comfortably took up a cosy routine, how it was so ordinary that I had forgotten we were already married. I didn't mind it being ordinary and routine. Doing anything with her was fine by me, no matter what.

She spoke,

"I'm not going to say it because you know what I'm thinking."

A smile curled my lips,

"One four three two," I said in English, and carried on reading.

The compartment of the sleeper train was fantastic. Modern and clean and shiny. The train was the same; modern and clean and sleek looking. I was surprised that it was a German train, but I suppose now with the European Union the railways of Europe are all interconnected. There were two bunk beds on one side, and a small wash room on the other. We stowed our gear and watched the suburbs of Milano slide past the window in the gathering dark. This train would take us east across northern Italy to Verona then turn north through Trento and Bolzano and into Austria and climbing hard, take us over the high passes of the Alps, through Innsbruck in the dead of night, descending tomorrow morning into Bavaria, to Munchen Hauptbahnhof. I'd never been on a proper sleeper train. We could easily have flown into Munich direct but Shizuku wanted to do it this way. It was more romantic, she said, and gave us a whole night to rest so we could arrive in Munich fresh and ready to go. I had to agree with her, it was a lovely way to travel, very mysterious and old worldy. We had a fine dinner in the restaurant car, a couple of drinks in the bar car then went back to our tiny bedroom on wheels. The bunk beds were narrow but there was no question of sleeping separately. We both needed to hold each other and we somehow managed to make beautiful sweaty love in that tiny space that was narrower than an ordinary single bed. She apologized to me for her treatment of me on the plane, and she made up for it with her gorgeous mouth in the way she does so well. I had been a jerk on the plane, annoying her and stopping her working, so I said sorry too. I think she accepted my apology although she was rather noisy about it.

-oOo-

I woke in the night. I was on my back and the bunk was so narrow that she was almost on top of me. There was a light outside the train, a flashing orange lamp and a chiming bell perhaps of some road crossing we were traversing. The train was moving slowly and by the swaying of the carriage it felt like we were changing tracks. I looked at the shards of orange light flickering across the ceiling. I slid out from under her and padded to the window. I cracked the curtain open a few inches. Outside there were lights, the headlamps of another train on an adjacent track. It was a freight yard of some kind and figures moved ghost like in the harsh light of arc lamps, loading wagons with a crane. My head was confused, stuffed with the furriness of sleep and the scene was disjointed and strange, it might have been a scene from a science fiction movie. The Mars base being prepared for defence just before the big budget alien assault scene. I'm sure Sigourney Weaver was out there, just off camera. The night outside vibrated to rumblings and glittered with lights. Had I been awake things would have made sense but in my semi-conscious state it was all random and mysterious, I let the curtain close.

I turned back to the bunk. Being so close together we had become hot and the blanket had been pushed down. She lay on her side, facing me, naked to the hip. As I watched she moved in her sleep and flung one arm up over her head. I flipped open the small folding seat by the little dressing mirror and sat down. I just sat and looked, staring at her skin, her curves. There is this place she has, just below her smooth armpit, it's on the side where her ribs begin and the skin there is partly armpit and partly the start of the side of her breast. On a man that place is just hairy, muscley and sweaty and horrible. On her it is smooth, curvy and sweet – even pure, a pure female place. For some odd reason that I don't understand, I love that place the most. I love its shape, its girl softness. I love kissing it. When she stands with her back to me and lifts her arm I can see it, see the side of the breast curving away. Call me odd but I find that a totally captivating piece of flesh. I wish I could paint or draw, I could do so much with such an inspirational model. I noticed that she was getting colder; at two small pretty places, two of my favourite places, her body showed she was cold. I smiled. She was gorgeous. The gods must have been in a good mood when they made her. Then I noticed her eyes were open, there was the tiniest glimmer of reflected light in them.

"Mmm, what you doin'?" she mumbled the words.  
"Couldn't sleep."  
"Hm. Watchin' me?"  
"Yes."  
"Oh," a pause, "Why?"

She was befuddled with sleep, she might even still be mostly asleep. This was one of those conversations a person might not even remember in the morning.

"Because you're beautiful."  
"Mm. Thass nice."

She lifted her other arm and rolled onto her back. The two pretty cold places were now the highest parts of her. And obviously getting colder. How could I resist? She looked good enough to eat, something I suddenly wanted to do right there and then. I got up and went to her.

"I hate to disturb you, but I want to do something."  
"Hm, whatever…"

I lifted one of her legs aside, opening her and kneeling, put my head there, tasting her. It took a while, perhaps ten minutes, and she made almost no noise at all, just gentle moans and a long happy sigh at the end. I got up and lay with her, and as I pulled the blanket up she was already asleep again. I smelled her hair. Autumn leaves. Happy, I slept.

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5 – 7 January 2007

Up until now I have been uploading a backlog of chapters that I wrote at the end of December and early January, but there is one more to come after this and then that supply is used up. So soon the frequency of updates will tail off. I am not sure at what rate I will keep going - I hope at least one chapter a week, possibly two, we'll just have to see. I have a very clear idea of where I'm going in the next 3 or 4 chapters, but things get a little hazy after that. So a slow down might occur then, around chapter 28 or so.

For author notes about chapter 23 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	25. Ch 24 Moller Schnee und Steuben

**Chapter Twenty Four – Moller, Schnee und Steuben  
**

_Shizuku – Munchen – July 1999  
_  
We arrived at the station at about six in the morning. The overnight sleeper always arrived early so that passengers could wake at leisure then take breakfast on the train before going on their way. I remember officially we had to be off the train by nine so breakfast could be taken slowly. Such a civilized way to travel. I think, despite the excitement of flying, traveling by train is better, it's just more stylish, especially these overnight trains, you think you might meet some interesting people in the bar car taking late night drinks. Humphrey Bogart perhaps, or Orson Welles. And of course, unlike a plane, two people can do so much more on an overnight train. Mmm, so romantic don't you think? Which reminds me, I had a lovely dream last night.

I washed and dressed and leaving a scribbled note for him, left him still sleeping. I stepped down onto the platform into that wonderful cool freshness you only get in early daylight. The station had hardly awoken. It was a Saturday so no commuter traffic, and at six thirty there were no regular trains running. Apart from a few staff bustling about the sleeper train, the place was deserted. I checked with someone that they'd let me back on the train, and went outside. A few cars were passing but the city centre was still quiet. There were tall buildings, offices, department stores. I just started walking, up one street, down another. The area around the station seemed to be quite modern but intriguingly a little way east of me I could see older buildings and several church steeples. I knew Munich was an old city but had no idea how much of it had survived the bombing in the war. From what I could see it might still have an old centre, like Cremona. I had brought my maps with me but knew the university and the park I wanted to visit were a long way across the city, on the north side. I came across a park and watched some ducks on a lake. The air was beautifully fresh, nothing like the warm moist air of the Po valley. Munich was a little higher up I think and the weather systems here near the Alps were different. I breathed in deeply and walked hard, making my cheeks pink. It was a lovely way to see the city.

Back at the train he had dressed and packed our stuff, bless him, and the compartment was empty. Warm, I threw off my jacket and went to the restaurant car to find him tucking into a big breakfast of eggs, toast, juice and coffee. No seaweed, rice and _miso_ soup here unfortunately, we were Europeans now and had to change gears on so many things. We didn't talk. In a companionable silence I joined him and stole a piece of his toast, dipping it in his egg.

-oOo-

We left the train in the bright morning. The city was bustling now, it was like I'd strayed onto a movie set earlier, before the cast and stage crew had showed up for work. Now all the walk-on actors were playing their bit parts, passing anonymously on their way, doing unknown tasks with secret intent; only they knew the script. Were we the star parts? I suppose in our story we were. But I'd not read the script in advance, I had no way to tell how the next scenes would unfold.

We had our bags with us, two big suitcases, the dolls in their battered photographic equipment case, the violin, my shoulder bag, his shoulder bag with our traveling supplies in. Quite an expedition. But he had arranged a rental car and yet another new experience awaited us. Our lives had up until now consisted of his bike, of trains, of walking. We'd walked hundreds of miles together I think – around Tama and Tokyo, Cremona, Firenze, Venice and up on the Shimokita peninsular. Over the years we'd probably walked ten miles just within airports. And add to that all the cycling. I couldn't think how far his legs and pedalled us over the years. But the years were passing and now we moved from bike to car. We joined the faceless breed of motorized tourists. It was quite small, the smallest and cheapest the rental company did, a little Volkswagen, but it was new and comfortable enough, and best of all it had a really good radio - nice and loud. Getting the bags in was a problem, we filled the hatchback and the back seat. But we only needed to get the luggage as far as our hotel, a cheap one but as near the city centre as we could find and still be within our budget so that in the evenings we could go out. Staying in the wilds of the wet Shimokita peninsular coast is nice, don't get me wrong, and spending days alone with just him and the forests is perfect but we wanted to experience our first big modern European city – our times in Cremona were all spent in what is essentially a museum; a renaissance city that isn't a real working community – Cremona survives on the arts, its many academies, and tourism. Munich was modern and huge and ugly in the way that all big cities are but we wanted to look around. Munich is best in October apparently when it's host to the most famous beer festival in the world but we'd have to experience that another time.

Considering that everyone drove on the wrong side of the road, Seiji did very well. We unloaded the bags and dumped them in the room, returned to the car and began. This was the start of the journey, it was up to me, he was just the driver now, although I hoped I could infect him with my enthusiasm, that I would draw him in to this fascinating story.

-oOo-

We stood in front of the Academy of Fine Arts. Time had stood still. This was the building Luisa and Shirou would have known. My research told me it had been built in 1887 and wasn't much damaged in the war. I felt strangely at home here and then I realized that was because the thing was built in the Venetian renaissance style. It felt like one side of St Marks Square. Adjacent, a brand new block was being built; as yet unfinished. The university was open and summer students were gathering for classes. In summer they held adult courses and we felt out of place. There was something of a hospital about the place though, some alien smell that Japanese universities don't have. The floor polish perhaps. We followed the signs to the student bar and to my surprise it was at the west end of the block on the ground floor, the same place it had been in the 1930s. Also, to our surprise at this time of the morning, it was open and serving coffees and snacks. We bought drinks and sat by a window. Outside in the car park people and cars came and went. I tried to feel a connection to the place, to _him_, but there was nothing. It was merely a big school.

"Do you feel anything?" he asked,  
"Only the sun."  
"Is he here?"  
"No, he's not. It's just a place people come to learn."  
"OK, let's go."

I didn't feel _her_ either. Strangely enough the bar would have served us a glass of milk if we'd wanted.

-oOo-

The Englischer Garten on the north side of the city was a lovely park. It was huge and on the east side bordered the river. This was the Isar in its semi-youthful state before it ran north and east and met the right bank of the Danube 300 miles away by which time it would become old and slow and brown. This was a famous park I later found, the site of the great Oktoberfest where tens of thousands of people gathered each year to drink tens of thousands of litres of beer.

The place was so big you could walk in it all day and not cover the same ground. The river actually split into several channels on the east side and the parkland between them was linked by many bridges, footpaths and cycleways. My 1930s map showed a café I needed to find but it took us all morning to find it. We crossed a wooden footbridge, came around a large bank of azaleas and rhododendrons and there it was. I knew it was the same café because it was the right location, I was certain. But this wasn't their café, this wasn't the café where the Baron and Baroness had stood on a counter and been seen by two young lovers in 1938. I had no idea if war had taken the old building but probably not, probably it was just time, the wooden summerhouse style café had probably simply got old and needed to be replaced. What we looked at now was foreign. It was an ugly thing. Built of brown brick with a flat roof and ice cream signs, it had a paved area outside with a few tatty aluminium tables and chairs and several wire rubbish bins, overflowing with yesterdays picnic debris. There was a blue and white striped awning but it was plastic, ripped and dirty. A couple of families sat outside, the kids being noisy and brattish.

We stood in silence. I stared at the scene and a wave of unhappiness and depression came over me. Why was I wasting our time and money here? It was all gone, all different now. They weren't here and I began to doubt my sanity in this stupid search across time. I was dragging Seiji uselessly around Germany to no purpose. Was there something wrong with me? Why did I need to do this? He spoke,

"Why are we here, Shizuku?"

_Good question, my dear friend, that's a very good question _

"Seiji, I'm sorry. I don't know. It's all gone now, all changed. Let's go."  
"Are you happy?"  
"Doing this? I was. Sorry, I was looking forward to making discoveries, finding them and their past, but it's gone. They were here only a year and the city has gone on sixty years since then. I'm sorry Seiji, no, I'm not happy now. I can feel me wasting our money. It's not like we have much."  
"You said sorry three times then."  
"I'm s…"  
"Don't be. I'm happy. It's a nice city. Even if we find nothing at least we have our answers. We wouldn't have if we'd not come, hm?"

His logic had no flaw. We turned our backs on a place where once love had blossomed. I glanced at the grass, the sloping meadow down to the lake. Once a group of chattering student girls had sat somewhere there and seen a small funny lost man in a brown suit. One of them had stood up and spoken to him. But they were gone now and had left no trace. The dolls' case was heavy, it had a corner that kept rubbing my leg and I regretted bringing it.

We went back to our hotel and left the dolls before returning on foot to the city centre and finding somewhere to eat. At least the old city was quite nice. But it wasn't Cremona, it had no soul and I found myself yearning to be back in Italy. At the Hotel Alfonso, at the Piazza San Giorgio, at the cherub fountain. Was that home to me already? A dull restless feeling came over me that evening and I couldn't shake it off.

-oOo-

The next day I had one more place to look and it was hard to find. My map showed it to be on the east side of the city, across the river and some way out and it quickly became obvious that this had once been an industrial centre. My 1930 map bore little resemblance to the new Michelin Guide I carried. The streets were similar but the buildings were nothing like the ones on my old map. Where there had once been factories and small workshops there were now warehouses and parcel depots, everything built in pre-formed concrete and metal panels. I suppose this place had been bombed heavily. After a confusing drive along streets whose modern warehouses all looked the same, we found Konigin Wilhelmina Strasse but where 171 was we had no idea. The feeling of uselessness and time-wasting from yesterday returned.

"Seiji, stop here."

He pulled over and switched off the engine. I looked up at a couple of company name boards, if I tried to pronounce them it sounded like I was sneezing.

"We're wasting our time."  
"Just don't say sorry again, you don't need to. Actually I'm finding this quite fun. My driving is getting better."

I smiled at him.

"Stay here, I just want to walk up and down the road a little, my intuition may wake up. It's been rubbish since we got here but you never know."  
"Maybe it doesn't speak German."  
"Good point. Italian is closer, I'll stop trying to intuit in Japanese then."  
"Actually I think English is closer to German, try that."  
"Thanks, you're a big help."

I grinned at him and got out. It was warm and I left my jacket in the car. I was even warm wearing just the thin sweater. I chose a direction at random and went. I passed several completely faceless buildings and another parcel depot. How many idiot parcels did the Germans need to send each other? The problem was my old map showed the street to be lined with little buildings, many of them probably small family run workshops or local factories producing small amounts of things. Today the storage facilities here were huge and one building might take up the frontage of twenty old ones so I was hopelessly lost as to where the street numbering might be. I didn't even know which side of the road it was or which end the low-numbers started. It was impossible. A grey depression came over me. I was late coming on this month and last night had probably been the start of it. Great, that was all I needed.

"Just one sign. That's all I need. Just one number, then I can work away from there."

I went past a small office. Two young women were outside. That was odd, seeing as it was Sunday, maybe they were doing overtime or perhaps this company needed round the clock staffing. They were smoking by a doorway. I knew absolutely no German except very basic things. I looked back down the street. Our red Volkswagen was parked where I'd got out. I could see the black outline of his head and shoulders, could feel him watching me. I lifted an arm to him and went onto the office forecourt. They watched me approach.

"Uh, bitte? Ein Seiben Ein, bitte?"  
"Fabrik?" answered the older girl.  
"Ja, fabrik, factory."

They looked at each other.

"Ein moment."

The girl went in the doorway and screeched something to a person who must have been twenty miles away judging by how loud she yelled. Or perhaps she'd stepped on a couple of cats dozing just inside the doorway. Moments later a big fat older woman came out. As soon as she stepped through the door she lit a cigarette. Maybe this was the compulsory smoking area and they were going to force me to have one. The big woman came over to me. She looked like she'd been a tank driver before she worked here. I don't think she had used a razor in her life. She started talking in rapid German but I looked helpless and interrupted with,

"Ich verstehe nicht. Ich spreche nicht Deutsches."  
"Ah! OK. Rechts. Ja? Rechts."

She indicated a right turn back toward our car.

"Eine kleine strasse auf dem rechts."

I looked blank,

"Ich bin traurig."  
"Komm, bitte."

She went to the gateway and gestured for me to follow. She pointed towards our car, then gestured right.

"Hier, ja, hier. Rechts, kleine strasse."

Small street, go right. Her hand signals indicated the turn was close by.

"Ah, danke, vielen danke."

I gestured my thanks and made my way back the way I'd come. I hoped the cats would survive their trauma. A few yards down, perhaps half way back to our car was an opening between two storehouses. I'd not noticed it before, I'd assumed it was a factory entrance but there was a tiny narrow pavement on one side, a public road. I waved to Seiji, gesturing him to come. I went down the alley, for that's what it was, no wider. After forty yards the corrugated metal buildings either side ended and I found myself on a bombsite. I was a little disconcerted. There was no-one here and I had a sudden scary feeling that the German tank driver and her friends might come out of a doorway and drag me in and subject me to the same fate as the two cats. I looked around and was reassured to see the red of our Volkswagen appear between the buildings. It nosed carefully down the alley and stopped just behind me. The derelict plot was fenced off from the alley by sheets of corrugated tin. I stood on tip toe and peered over the fence. Nothing but rubble and grass. Certainly no parts of half made cat dolls. Damn, this was another stupid dead end.

The car horn beeped right behind me and I nearly jumped out of my skin! _Baka!_ I turned on him, breathing fire, intending to let rip. Yes, this was definitely PMT, just what I bloody well didn't need today. I opened my mouth to tear into him and saw he was grinning and gesturing, pointing upwards through the car roof, to one side. Baka! What was he doing? I glared at him. He rolled his eyes and got out.

"There. Look."

He pointed above my head. I followed his pointing finger and looked up. A rusty metal post was right next to me about ten or twelve feet high. Fixed to the top was a cast iron notice plate. It was black with age, blistered with rust spores and bore white lettering, very faded:

**... ... ... ... ... ... ...  
Kgn. Whma. Str.  
.. ..171 - 175.. ..  
... ... ... ... ... ... ...  
**

"There you go! This is it!"

I looked around. My heart sank. This bombsite was all that remained of 171 to 175 Konigin Wilhelmina Strasse? Shit!

"Well, you found it! But it ain't here. Courtesy of the United States Air Force."

He was grinning. I wasn't. He could do that as crookedly as he liked today but I felt like crap now and it wasn't just my gut that hurt, making me short tempered. He saw my face and his smile left at once.

"Oh, Shizuku, I'm sorry."  
"No you're not, you're laughing at me."  
"OK, I apologize, I just…"  
"Seiji, I _don't_ want to hear it. What day is it?"  
"Sunday."  
"Yes, I _know_ it's a Sunday. What's the date?"  
"The twenty fifth. Oh…"  
"Yes, _Oh_."  
"Ah. I'm sorry, I forgot. It's late this month isn't it?"  
"It is and it feels like it's making up for lost time fast. I feel like crap. And this is not the time to be funny, so please _do not_ mess about with me."  
"Shizuku, it's all gone. There's nothing here. Why don't we go back? I'll run you a nice bath and you can relax."

I had to give him a small smile. Even after I'd just chewed him out for no reason he came up with nice considerate suggestions. Had I married the right guy? You bet. I shrugged. Then a really stupid idea came to me. It had been hovering in my thoughts since yesterday when I'd seen the Fine Arts Academy which reminded me of St Marks Square. My mind went back to Venice four years ago. The metal post stood by an old blackened brick pillar. The bricks looked like they might have been one side of a wide door or archway, maybe an entrance where lorries had gone through to a courtyard. I faced the pillar. I lifted my hand, palm forwards.

"Shizuku, I know what you're thinking. Is this a good idea?"

I turned to look at him.

"Er…look, in your condition... you're not well."  
"Seiji! I am not _ill_, or _sick_, I'm just a woman, so back off!"

I'd hate myself some months, he never deserved this but I could never help it. He stood watching, an unhappy look on his face.

"I would rather you just didn't."

Baka! That made me want to even more, just to spite him. When my body was like this I just liked to be nasty. Damn, I hated myself for five days every twenty eight. Our eyes were locked together. I moved my hand to the bricks, hovered it in front of them an inch away. He took a step closer; I could feel him pleading with his eyes. That just made me angrier. How dare he care about me? I was grown up, why didn't he back off? _Go away and have a period Seiji, see how much you like it!_ I looked at my hand, pale hand. The bricks, black bricks. I pressed the one to the other. Pale hand, black bricks. Hand bricks. Bricks hand. Pale bricks, black hand.

Nothing.

The bricks were cold. They were dirty. Now my hand was dirty as well. Damn.

"Anything?"

I stared at my feet.

"No. Nothing."  
"Shizuku?"  
"_What?_"  
"Please let me take you home. I love you."  
"I know you do, and at these times I don't know why. I don't deserve you."  
"Come on, let's go."

I could hardly bear to admit defeat. It was on this spot that the Steuben factory had stood and it was behind this pillar, somewhere among that rubble, that grass, that the Baron and Baroness had come into existence, some time in the years just before 1938, made by the hand of an unknown craftsman. I was _so close_. It would have helped my pain if I could just get over the fence and walk the ground. If I could just have picked up a piece of stone, a piece of brick, some silly memento. I pushed against the sheet of corrugated tin. It was secure, riveted to its neighbour. I. _Couldn't._ _Get. In._ In sheer frustration with each word I kicked it and got a sore toe for my efforts. I rested my forehead against the fence. Then his hands were on my shoulders, squeezing gently.

"Shizuku, leave it. Please. There's nothing here for you. Let's go."

So we did.

And that was the end of our useless and fruitless search in Munich. We stayed in that evening. He ran that bath for me and I had a lovely long soak. When I got out, he asked me to lie on the bed, on my front with nothing on and he gave me a lovely back massage. Then he asked me to turn over and I lay there for a whole hour while he gently stroked my stomach and massaged the places I hurt, his warm hands moving in tender circles, soothing my ache. He asked me exactly where it hurt and each place I indicated with my finger he touched with his lips. He made me feel nice. I decided one of my nipples was sore and he kissed there too. And my throat, another kiss. My lips were really painful, I said, and he spent ages kissing them. I asked him if he hurt anywhere but he smiled and said no, he was fine. I wasn't in a fit state to take things to a conclusion anyway, the bleeding had started. Later he called room service and we ate dinner in our room. He put me to bed and then he sat up reading with the small lamp on while I dozed and watched him and loved him with my eyes and with a warm satisfaction in my heart. What a lovely man.

But Munich was a waste of time and money that we couldn't afford to throw away. The car was costing us 4,600 Yen a day, and the room nearly 10,000. This was a stupid, stupid idea. But he never once complained. Maybe that's a fault of his: too soft, too nice, too accommodating. Hm, maybe too much in love.

But there was more I had to do in Germany. We checked out the next day, our three day intended stay had lasted two days. At this rate we might be able to reduce our two weeks in Germany to just one. We drove out of the city on Monday morning pushing slowly through the rush hour traffic, heading west toward a small provincial Bavarian town called Sonthofen.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

5th and 8th - 9th January 2007, with detail additions on the 11th and some fine tuning on the 13th

For author notes about chapter 24 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	26. Ch 25 Take Me Home Country Roads

**Chapter Twenty Five – Take Me Home Country Roads  
**  
**  
**To them Munich was large, modern and faceless. Sonthofen was the opposite in every way. Shizuku had never seen it. As it was such a small town, she'd found no good images of it from her web searches. But as the Volkswagen came over a rise and started its descent she needed no map to tell her they'd arrived. It was Luisa's description alone that she had in her head and it was a good one. There were farms on the sides of the low valley above the town with green fields below and even black and white cows. But in the bottom of the valley was a picture postcard place today surely not much bigger than when Luisa and Falco had scared the locals in his car. The buildings clustered around a single bridge over the river and even though it looked like a modern replacement (the war again maybe?) Shizuku could feel the old lady here. The buildings were half timbered and did indeed look like they were made from ginger bread. There were a couple of churches and while at first she'd not understood Luisa's odd phrase 'onion dome', now she knew exactly what she'd meant. At the top of the straight sided, white painted towers of these Bavarian churches, were strange small domes, probably of wood framing and either eight or sixteen sides, sheathed in copper with a stubby spire, atop which commonly sat a weathervane or less usually, a cross. The oxidized copper turned green and they looked exactly like green skinned onions.

They stopped in a car park by the bridge and got out to stretch their legs. They walked along a riverside path and ate a snack lunch at a café. Seiji got out his new digital camera and took pictures. Shizuku could send them by e-mail to their parents and Yuko as soon as they got an internet connection set up in their apartment.

The journey from Munich had taken less time than the map had suggested. They had thought they might make a night stop here but it was still early afternoon and since there was nothing to investigate on the ground they decided to press on south. Unfortunately while Luisa's description of her time here was vibrant it had no geographical details since Shizuku that day had had no large scale map with which to try and pin down the reminiscences. The Trommler farm could have been any one of half a dozen or so on either the north or south side of the valley. It was strange to be in these places, walking the soil where a voice was leading them, to be here and yet not to know where they should look.

Seiji took them south. The land was rising, always rising. The valleys became narrower and pine trees crowded down in places to the roadway, to watch them pass. Small tumbling streams went under the road, the bridges sometimes being small arches which Seiji accelerated across making the car fly and bounce down on the other side while Shizuku squealed with excitement. She led them off the main highways and they now entered a secret world. Now _this_ was Bavaria. Some happy, jolly music was on the radio and as they drove they sang along to the tunes they knew. From time to time Shizuku played air guitar, or the dashboard became her drum kit. It was warm and they wound the windows down and let the summer breeze blow their Munich depression away. The roads grew steeper yet and began to wind around corners, Seiji shifted down gears and they would creep around woodland turns to come across small timber farms where the cows at the fences watched them stupidly as they passed. Her finger crept across map, the villages became smaller and clung to steeper hillsides, she led them through many turns and side roads confidently onwards. The afternoon drew down and the sun began to sink on their right hand, at times in the steeper valleys they'd be in gloom and dusk only to come out onto some higher place a few minutes later to be met by a blaze of golden light as the rays of glory hit them, and lit up the hillsides on their left. A sign was ahead. OBERSTDORF. They passed it and Seiji brought the car to a stop. He got out. Shizuku wondered what he was doing. She looked back and watched him go past the sign again and then photograph it. She smiled, _heh, he's hooked now too._ The thought skipped happily across her mind. He got back in the car.

"Everything alright?"  
"Sure," he replied, "just one for the album."  
"Wait – what's this?" she turned up the volume on the radio, "hey!"

Olivia Newton-John singing _Take Me Home Country Roads_. Seiji sat behind the wheel, his gaze meeting hers and they linked together in the strangeness of the co-incidence.

"Turn it up."

She did so. He drove on, and they sang at the tops of their voices as they entered the town. He took them on four circuits of the large central market square – the _marktplatz_ while they sang the song to the end. He parked the car, the engine died.

"Ooh, the hairs on my neck are standing up. That was weird."  
"Mm, quite a co-incidence," he said, "Good though. Is that a good omen?"  
"Yes, I think so. Come on."

The light was fading as they walked around the town. They just wandered randomly about for an hour soaking up its atmosphere. This was a bigger place than the villages they'd been through during the afternoon. It was old, that much was obvious, and it still seemed to face toward its heritage rather be turning towards the future like many other places. Farming was clearly still the main occupation of the area and here there were small industries and of course tourism had taken a hold – this was the Bavarian Alps, one of the prettiest places in Germany, and many people came here for the walking and climbing. They found shops selling painted wooden toys and bakeries and a tannery where leather was worked. There were cake shops (Shizuku decided she'd need to check those out properly tomorrow) and a lovely town hall and a church. As it grew dark and places were shutting they returned to the car and went up the front steps of a half-timbered _gasthaus_ that faced the marktplatz. Fortunately for them the owner spoke good English, with an American accent, and they booked a room for two nights, unloaded their gear and went to find a restaurant. What they found was more of a bar and it was full of elderly Americans who were on a walking holiday. They ate and had a few drinks and the alcohol broke down the barriers. One of the American men, an ancient old guy who introduced himself as Carl, came across and asked if they would mind some company. His opening was that hackneyed old line, "Hey, are you guys Japanese by any chance?" Seiji had heard this before in Italy and each time it happened he was tempted to deny it and reply in his best Klingon. But Carl was very friendly. It turned out he'd been based at Kobe after the war. He had been an army engineer and had spent some years on rebuilding things that his fellow soldiers had so recently destroyed. He knew Tokyo slightly and it transpired that, like so many American soldiers after the war, he'd married a Japanese lady but she had died a couple of years back. He was now, with his sons friends and some of his old army buddies, walking the valleys here (just the flatter ones, he'd said with a smile). He asked them what they were doing in Oberstdorf and Shizuku had replied that they were looking for a certain house, a lady they knew had been born here, in 1917 and had left during the war.

"The war eh? Well that's something I can help you with. Have you found the museum yet? No? OK, go up the hill here on the south side of the market place and take the first left and the museum is about 50 yards down on your right. There's a little square there. You can't miss it."  
"Thank you, yes, we'll certainly take a look tomorrow."  
"My pleasure."

He was a jolly person and it was good to relax and stop worrying about their journey ahead for a few hours.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

9th and 11th - 12th January 2007

For author notes about chapter 25 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	27. Ch 26 Man in the Ruins

**Chapter Twenty Six – Man in the Ruins**

The next morning that cake shop was top priority and they had coffee and a bite to eat there. These Bavarians certainly knew how to make cakes. Seiji suggested that if the violin making didn't work out, he'd move to Bavaria and become a dentist, there'd be no shortage of work. They set off up the hill from the marktplatz, following Carl's directions, Shizuku had her file under her arm.

The street they turned down did indeed end in a small square and they were astonished to find themselves face to face with a tank. It was parked in a little garden on a concrete plinth, painted green and with prominent white Allied stars on hull and turret. It looked incongruous stood there with flowers growing around it. There was a plate on the plinth:

**"The Last Shot":** **27th Tank Battalion,  
Combat Command B, 20th Armoured Division,  
attached to 42nd Infantry Division, 10 May 1945.**

**  
**On one side of the square was a building that looked like it had once been a school. An American flag hung outside. They went in. There were photographs and maps on the walls, in glass cases were hardly identifiable fragments of equipment, on one side of the room there were rifles and machine guns hanging on the wall. At the back of the room, filling most of the space there, was a jeep. Seiji wore a frown, this wasn't his scene at all. Shizuku went up to a thin old man at a desk.

"Guten morgen, sprechen sie Englische, bitte?"  
"Yeah, I speak English young lady. How can I help you?"

Not only did he speak English, Shizuku realized English was probably all he spoke since he was clearly an American.

_Odd, there seem to be a lot of Americans in Bavaria.  
_  
"Oh, you're American. I expected this to be a German museum."  
"Hell, no, miss, the Germans don't go big on museums dedicated to the war you know."  
"No, I suppose not."  
"Things are getting better as the years pass of course, and folks come round to realizing that you can remember the war without it being all Swastikas and jackboots, so, we're getting there slowly, ya know."  
"Yes, I see."  
"Did you want to look round?"  
"Not really, but I wondered if you could help me."  
"No problem, I'll try."  
"I know someone who was born here, long before the war and she had to leave when the war started to avoid the fighting. I'm trying to find her house. Would you know anything about that?"  
"Fighting? There wasn't any fighting here when the war started, miss. That all came much later, when we guys arrived," he grinned.  
"Well, when I said fighting I didn't actually mean that, I was just… well... her family was Jewish. They left in 1939."

She looked at him carefully. She could already feel the emotions and didn't want to get into all this with a total stranger. But the old man's eyes met hers steadily and there was a kindness in them. And a sadness.

"My name is Liebgott," was all he said.  
"I'm sorry? That's a German name."  
"Herman Liebgott. Yeah, German. German Jew. From Philadelphia. Family went there in 1933, when I was seven. We were lucky, we got out when my pop saw it all starting to happen. From Emden. There weren't many of us so lucky."

Shizuku understood.

"The lady I knew was lucky too. But her father left it almost too late. She told me some soldiers came in the night and started going round all the houses in this town, all the ones with "Juden" painted on the doors. Her family just grabbed some bags and ran away just in time."

His face was troubled.

"Those were bad times. But worse was to come. A lot worse."  
"Well, it didn't happen to me so I find it hard to really understand."  
"I had other family who stayed here and we never saw them again," he said, his eyes holding hers, "My family was right in the middle of it and I still find it hard to understand as well. But, hey, young lady, you don't want to hear all that. It's over now. You're young, just getting started in life, you shouldn't concern yourself with all that."

Shizuku was grateful for his decision to end that conversation. She could see, in her mind's eye, the sad look Luisa had on her face when she'd recalled those times.

"But no fighting here though. That didn't come until the spring of '45."  
"Did you fight here?"  
"Me?" he laughed, "Hell, no! Well, I was here but I didn't fight. I joined up in '43 when I turned 17. It was something I felt I had to do, ya know? To get back at those bas… I'm sorry, but, well, I felt strongly about it. I spent two years Stateside and in England doing my training, then I came here in May '45. Hey, I guess I was one of the lucky ones too. I landed in France and drove all the way through Germany in the back of a deuce-and-a-half,"  
"A what?"  
"A truck. An army truck. Two and a half tonner. General Motors finest. You know it was General Motors and Ford who won the war? Hm, they built tanks and jeeps and trucks by the mile and just cut them off as they needed them. Like sausages. It was a sausage factory."

He grinned.

"When we got to Bavaria the party was almost over. We just had to pick up the broken glasses, remake the beds and shampoo the carpets."

She understood his similes.

"So there was no fighting?"  
"Oh, there was some, but not much. See by then everyone knew it was over, except for a few nutcases in Berlin and a few fanatics down here. In Bavaria."  
"Why here?"  
"Well Bavaria had always been the Nazi heartland you see. Hitler was a Bavarian and in the south was where the Nazi party was born. They were big in Munich, ya know. So lots of the towns round here were full of party members, people loyal to the bitter end, and the few soldiers and die-hards who felt they should carry on the fight came here. The kind of people who won't see reason, or who just live to fight, people who would rather die than see a Germany governed by anyone but Hitler."

He didn't pull his punches in this conversation. She could see he was bitter, but that didn't affect her, even though this man had technically once been grandpa's enemy.

"They weren't big battles; those fanatical groups might only be fifty or a hundred guys, but they knew the country and they'd dig themselves in to these mountain villages and if they had a mind to stay, well, they were the very devil to get out. It's defenders terrain round here you see?"

She didn't.

"These steep narrow valleys, lots of hills, few roads, poor lateral communications for an attacker. A dozen guys with sniper rifles and a few axes could fell some trees, block a road then snipe away at whoever tried to clear it. They could hold up a battalion for a whole day. Then at night retreat a few miles and do it again."  
"I still don't really follow you. Didn't the American army have lots of tanks and planes?"  
"Sure, but the tanks would be all stuck back in the traffic jams on the mountain roads. This steep terrain you can't flank a position, you'd need a squad of mountain goats to do that round here. And you can't call in an air strike for just a few guys hiding up a cliff. Besides, while _they_ refused to admit the war was over, our guys knew it _was_. So we were very cautious you see? No point getting yerself killed if the war was gonna end next week, hm?"

Shizuku could relate to that.

"So every place we came up against these fanatics we took it very slow like, very carefully, because while they might wanna die, we sure as hell didn't. The battle in Oberstdorf was one of the bigger ones. They only had about two hundred guys but they had some heavy stuff: mortars, machine guns, a couple of anti-tank guns still working. So the battle here lasted about five days. And it ended right here."  
"Here?"  
"Yup, that's right miss. Right where you're standing."

Shizuku looked down at her feet. It was an instinctive reaction. Herman laughed,

"Hey, they all do that when I tell 'em! Every single one. This was the town infirmary. Well built. Good solid walls. The last couple of dozen of them dug themselves in here. See that tank out there?"

She nodded.

"That there tank fired the last shots of the war in this part of Germany. Or so I'm told."

He grinned again, she didn't know whether to believe him or not.

"We brought it down the street from the town hall square and stopped it between those buildings, just _there_, by the shoe shop. On the corner. And it fired four of five shells in here. Yup, right here, right about where you are now. Blew the doors out it did, blew the roof out, blew pretty much the front of the building out. And blew those last few poor bastards out too."

This time he forgot - or didn't bother - to edit out the bad language.

She looked around the room. She looked for signs of the past, of damage, but there were none. All rebuilt now. No holes in the walls, no rubble piled in the corners, no smoke, no blood. She shivered. She was bleeding today, her third day. Right now. She could feel her body doing it. That connection seemed odd. There had been death here. Right here. Blood. In this pretty quiet town. She looked over at Seiji. He was standing on the far side of the room. He'd been looking at a map but had turned to watch them. He was listening. Shizuku idly wondered if anyone in Oberstdorf had owned a Stradivarius and whether it was still around or had been lost.

_war is ugly and stupid. The exact opposite of a Strad,_ he'd once said.

"Was the town very damaged?"  
"Hm, oh yeah. A fair piece. The market square buildings were all pretty knocked about some, the town hall especially. That was another strong building with a commanding field of fire, so some of them holed up in there too. Put a machine gun in the roof of that place and you can single handedly stop all traffic and communications through the town. These guys were old hands, they didn't mess about. And here of course. This building is _all_ new. And the south side of the town. That was where the American troops broke in on the first day, some of the heaviest fighting there, couple of streets pretty much demolished."  
"The south side?"

_Gebirgsweg 36. Her house.  
_  
"Yeah. I can show you if you like. This way."

He led her into a second room, Seiji followed, hands in pockets, a spare wheel at the moment. She asked him with her eyes if he was alright. He nodded, but she could read his body language – he wasn't comfortable here. There was a display of uniforms in the second room, on tailors' dummies in glass cases. And a big table. Under the table was a cabinet of many shallow but wide drawers, each only about two inches deep. Document drawers. She'd seen them before in the central library in Ochikawa where she'd gone while researching this trip. Herman went straight to the third drawer and slid it smoothly open. He lifted out a large coloured piece of material, it had a cloth backing, a type of heavy linen but on the front was a beautifully coloured map of the town. It was huge, about five feet by four and very detailed, very large scale. It showed every street, even the width of the streets and their pavements. Every building was outlined and there were even dots for the telephone poles and lamp posts. Shizuku had a small map in her file, she got it out and compared them. Hers was lacking most of the detail of the bigger one but it was obvious they were based on the same survey. Hers was the one downloaded from the net, the one Luisa had had trouble reading three years ago. She smiled, she'd have had no problem reading Herman's map. It was like an open book, it told her everything. She looked at the buildings. Her eyes went straight to a street on the south edge of the town. There was a cluster of properties there inked in red. She knew straight away that number 36 was one of them. She'd studied her own small map often enough. Her finger touched the big map.

"Here. The red houses. Why are they coloured differently?"  
"Well, you see in Germany in '45 and '46 there were hundreds of thousands of American soldiers stationed. Very young men many of them, 'bout the age of you, my friend."

Seiji frowned. _Don't compare me to a soldier,_ he thought.

"And these boys had to be kept busy ya see. They were well paid, very well paid compared to the locals, they had lots of spare time and money and well, you know, young men don't always have their brains in their heads. You can follow my line of thinking I hope."  
"Think of Adamo," Seiji suggested to her, "imagine him with a lot of money to spend. And imagine there are almost no young men in Cremona. They've all gone off to war and not come back. Imagine a town that has had no luxuries for five years, no chocolate, no silk stockings, no quality food, no alcohol and so on. Adamo can buy that stuff through army suppliers. And the town is full of girls and women, and just a few old men."

Shizuku found that scenario funny, and she smiled. She could visualize an Adamo heaven. Seiji held her gaze with hard eyes, serious eyes.

"Now imagine a whole army of Adamo's. With guns. Bored. Lots of spare time."

The scenario in Shizuku's head wasn't funny any more. It was suddenly sinister and bleak. That was a recipe for big trouble. An awful image of gang rape flashed across her mind and she shut her eyes to try and physically push it away, but the disturbing, vile image remained. She felt guilty for finding it funny at first. Seiji's eyes were dark and troubled. She couldn't hold his gaze. Herman cleared his throat.

"Yeah, well. I think you get the picture. So the Army had to find 'em work, keep 'em busy. A lot of us, like me just did labour work, manual stuff. Rebuilding bridges, railroad tracks, water mains, airfields, that kinda thing. Getting the country up and running again. Some guys did police duties. And some did surveying work, going round checking what needed repairing and how urgently. This map would have been annotated as part of such a survey. Yellow buildings are slightly damaged, orange badly damaged and needing to be mostly rebuilt. Red shows buildings destroyed by fire. Brown are ones completely ruined where a site just had to be bulldozed flat and a fresh start made. The survey would have been partly done by looking at the evidence on the ground and partly by interviews with locals, and soldiers directly involved in the fighting, finding out what had happened. The Army needed to keep lots of people very busy, lots of form filling. It wasn't all useful work as such but that wasn't the point, the point was to eat into these guys spare time."  
"And you? You weren't involved here?"  
"Uh-huh. I was here. Not hard to tell is it? I missed all the fighting but I was in this area from late May of '45 to July of '46 and then went up to Berlin until some time in '47. But no fighting."  
"None?"  
"Nope. Not a single shot. I carried a gun for nearly five years. When I was in training I fired plenty at man-shaped targets but in war I never once fired at a person. Not one shot. And since '47 I ain't never carried a gun and I don't ever intend to. The war made me a confirmed pacifist. You see I saw plenty of what happens when people stop talking and start shooting. And it ain't pretty. I don't just mean the dead on the battlefield, I mean everyone else it affects too. Like my extended family, like the lady you knew here and her family, the people she knew. All casualties because some fool stopped talking and picked up a gun."

She looked at Herman. His head was lowered. He was talking to the floor, no longer to her. She looked at Seiji. He was looking carefully at the American. Shizuku thought she detected something new in his eyes, something she'd not seen since he walked in here and wore his uncomfortable mask. As Seiji looked at the old man there was respect in his face.

She looked at the map, at the road named Gebirgsweg on the south edge of the town, and the street adjacent to it. Almost every single property was coloured. A few yellows but a lot of orange and brown. In the centre was that stain of red, like blood, like her blood this morning. Why that connection again? About six buildings. She looked closely at them. There were small pen annotations next to them. All the same "43-09".

"What does that mean – 43-09?"  
"Well, let's see now," he bent over the map, "Hm. That block was burned down in September 1943. Long before we arrived. Not damaged in the fighting."

_she stayed there alone in the house while it was used as accommodation for soldiers _

after the war the violin had gone. I expect some German soldier took it

"Just an accident I suppose. Troops might have been quartered in the town, troops get drunk you know, accidents happen."  
"That's not far from here is it?"  
"Certainly not. Five minutes walk, that's all."

_five minutes away, I'm five minutes from her house_

"All rebuilt now of course. I know the road. That's a row of shops."

_in Munich:  
"Do you feel anything?"  
"Only the sun."  
"Is he here?"  
"No, he's not." _

and she wasn't either. Not in Munich. Munich was an empty cupboard.

_but here? What would she find here?_

"Herr Liebgott, you have been very helpful to us, I want to thank you for your kindness and for being so generous with your time."  
"That's quite alright miss…?"  
"Amasawa. It's Mr. and Mrs. Amasawa."  
"Mrs. Amasawa. It's been nice speaking with you. And you sir."

Herman put out his hand. Seiji didn't take it but he stepped back and made a very careful and formal bow.

"And you, Herr Liebgott," he answered, "it has been a great pleasure. If only all soldiers thought as you do."  
"Ah, my boy! Not much chance of that, hm? Not much chance at all."  
"Goodbye. Herman. Thank you again for your kindness, you've been a great help."  
"My pleasure young lady."  
"How is this museum funded?"  
"Well, partly from the local Bavarian council and partly from donations in the U.S."  
"Can I give you something?"  
"Yes, that would be very generous of you. On the way out there is a donations box on my desk."  
"Thank you. I'll put something in it."

-oOo-

Outside Seiji stopped and took a few photos. He'd hated that place at first, he'd had a bad feeling ever since he walked into the square and seen the tank. But since hearing Herr Liebgott's story, he thought recording this was important. He even asked Shizuku if she'd like to stand by the tank to have her picture taken. It turned out later that that was one of the best photos to come out of the day. Her softness, her beauty against the hard ugly lines of the tank made a strong contrast. He kept a print of that picture by his workshop desk and frequently looked at it.

They walked past the tank back toward the marktplatz and turned left further up the slope, to the south side of the town. It didn't take them long. Shizuku looked up at the metal plate street name. Gebirgsweg. This was it.

It was just an ordinary street in an ordinary provincial little town. A town where nothing ever happened.

"Don't you go funny on me now, Shizuku."  
"I'm fine. This is a good place, I feel it's all OK here, not like Munich. If the site of the house is a shop now, I just want to see it, that's all."  
"Well lets just have a quick look and then I'll buy you lunch. And maybe another cake this afternoon, hm?"  
"Sounds like a plan."

The buildings were built in traditional style, partly brick and partly rendered with timber frames. Ginger bread houses. They looked old enough, just like the others in the town, like the ones in Sonthofen. Not being familiar with the architectural style they couldn't say how old they were. An expert could have pinned them down to the mid- to late 50s, but they couldn't.

This end of the street was houses, but further down they could see the shop signs. The first one was a bakers, then came a hardware shop selling electrical products – that was number 30. Then a chemist, and next a video library, everything was so prosaic, so ordinary. A man and a boy came out of the video library, the boy with two movies in his hand. They went along the pavement just in front of the Japanese couple and turned into the shop next door. Shizuku looked at it. A newsagents; selling papers, magazines, sweets and cigarettes. The name was **TZOLDERN: NACHRICHTEN UND SUSSIGKEITEN**. Beside the name was the shop number: **36**. Shizuku felt a chill go down her spine. It was a new looking shop with a big glass window. Inside she could see the man and boy at a counter buying some sweets.

She went up to the door, a wooden door. Painted green, it had a brass door knob. It could do with a fresh coat of paint, it was peeling. Then she noticed it had started to rain, a light drizzle from a dull sky. She looked up. She'd not noticed the clouds come over, it had been sunny when she'd stood by the tank. She looked down at the door again. This was silly, they were getting wet.

"Come on, let's go in, we'll get soaked."

She put her hand on the door knob and turned it, the door opened. It certainly did need a new coat of paint – it was filthy. And that "Juden" mark really needed to be wiped off, she was shocked to see graffiti like that on there. She stepped in.

She was no drier in the shop because it had no roof. Blackened bricks heaped on the floor, charred timbers lay across the piles of rubble, fragments of glass lay everywhere, a powder of crushed glass. In front of her the man and boy were at the shop counter. They completed their purchases and turned towards her. They became ghost like and paper thin and as they moved they ran like watercolours on a wet day, they became distorted and then gone altogether. She knew what was happening, it was the third time, the third one. But she wasn't afraid; she knew this wasn't real, it was all in her head. The ghostly outlines of the shop counter and the wall behind became fainter until she could no longer make them out, like the signal of a badly tuned television that drifts away into white noise. You see it until it's so faint that you think it's still there when it's not. A shadow image on your retina, an illusion. When you blink and look again it's gone. The shop had gone. The rain was steady and the scene took on a dull flat grey tone. It was impossible to see the floor of the house, so much of the upper storey, the roof and the walls had collapsed in the fire that black rubble was piled everywhere. The far wall of the building was jagged as old teeth and beyond it she could see a small back yard and an alley that ran behind the house row, where washing might be hung. She looked up at the sky again and noted the marks on the wall where a staircase had once been. However fear now took a cold hard grip on her heart and squeezed. She had moved. She had moved her head to look up. She couldn't move here because there was no time here. In Milan and Venice time had stopped and she'd had her vision in an instant. But this wasn't right, no, not at all. She had muscles to move and the rain was falling on her head and face. She could feel it. She was getting wet. That meant time existed here, in this vision, and _that_ scared her. Her hand was still on the doorknob. She let go of it and the door leaned back, away from her and fell with a clatter onto the broken bricks. It had no hinges. _Oh, my God, no._ This wasn't right. No, not at all. She was frightened and the fact that she was breathing fast and her heart was pounding frightened her more. Then she saw him. He appeared like an apparition in front of her, he seemed to rise up out of the ground, like a corpse from a grave. He came up through the floor, from behind a pile of fallen timbers. He was middle aged, or on the elderly side of middle aged, thin, with thinning hair, once black but now greying. His whole complexion was grey. He looked weary. He wore glasses, a frown and a threadbare black suit, shiny at the elbows and knees where it had worn thin. He held a cardboard box. She knew exactly what was in the box. A bible (or more correctly, she thought, a _Tanakh_), a walking stick, a stone jar, two small paintings their glass frames cracked, a tinplate toy train. And a broken cat doll. He turned toward her.

In July 1945 Leopold Weismann came up the stairs with the few things he'd been able to salvage from the cellar. Down there some things had survived the fire. One or two of these would be useful. He could sell some of them and feed the family. But the long journey hadn't been a complete waste because Luisa's doll was still here. He knew now it had been worth it, coming all the way from Torino for that. She'd be so pleased, even if the doll was a bit of a mess. Then he saw the person in the doorway and fear came over him.

"Herr Weismann?"

Shizuku could even speak, if her voice worked in this vision then it wasn't a vision was it? It meant she was really here. Back in time. Luisa's father took a step towards her. Then her heart ran cold with fear, her legs shook. She could feel her bladder wanting to open in fear.

"This isn't what you think," he answered,

And he came towards her, looking equally afraid. Something horrible began inside her, this was real panic. She was having a conversation with a dead man. She felt she was going to be sick, her guts flipped over and her face was cold and sweaty.

"Don't get excited, I can explain," said Luisa's father.

Her sense of balance failed and she began to fall. It was an awful feeling, knowing she was fainting, knowing she was about to hit her head on some bricks, seeing them coming towards her but being unable to stop it happening. As her body folded, as her knees bent and she went gracelessly down, crumpling like a person already dead, she turned a little, something in how she'd been standing left a residue of muscular tension in her right leg and her left leg folded first so that as she went down her body turned a little. It turned round to her right. She had no control over her other muscles and her head remained looking forwards so that as she descended, her field of view turned to the right as well. She saw someone in the doorway behind her. He was tall, muscular. He wore brown, she knew that colour, the colour of a light khaki soil, the colour of a soldier's uniform. Her mind was unraveling.

_is this madness? Am I dying?  
_  
She felt like everything was coming slowly undone. She knew that colour because she'd seen it only fifteen minutes earlier on a tailors dummy in the museum. An American army uniform. The person in the uniform had a helmet on his head, the chin straps hung down loose. He was unshaven, dirty and behind his shoulder she could even see the detail of the muzzle of a rifle slung on his back. He spoke. He must be speaking to her as she fainted (died? went mad?) because she'd been right in front of him.

"I'm not getting excited old man. At least not yet. Not unless you're a looter."  
_"Help me."  
_"It's not what you think," Leopold said again.  
_"Help me, please. I'm falling."  
_"Better have a good explanation buddy."  
_"Why? I'm fainting, why do you need me to explain?"  
_"This is my house. I used to live here. I just came back to see what was left."  
_"Please! I'm going to die here! Help!"_

Their conversation went on while Shizuku fell slowly down, so slowly that she almost stopped on the way, she took so long to fall and to turn around as she fell, that the two men had time to exchange several sentences. That exchange took almost a minute. Her head took a minute to oh so slowly fall five feet. During that minute a small part of her unspooling mind listened to the two men talk.

She looked up. The rain fell in her eyes. The voices of the old man and the American soldier fell around her.

_Is this death? It's so peaceful. I feel nothing. Did Kinu feel nothing?_

"Papers."  
"Oh, yes, papers. Here. My address, look. Oberstdorf. Gebirgsweg 36. My house. Yes? Do you understand?"  
_"No, I don't understand. None of it. None of it makes sense. But now I don't think that matters anymore."_

She had what felt like a long time to study the American soldier's face as he looked at Leopold Weismann's papers. She knew that the soldier would now know that the man was a Jew. And she saw something change in the young man's face. Some flicker of sympathy went through his eyes.

_"Oh, yes, he's a Jew. Please let him go. He's been through enough. Don't shoot him for looting, it's his house anyway. I've got a map on me. I can prove it to you. Let him go so he can take the doll to Italy and so after I'm dead I can find it again and send it to grandpa. And then Seiji will marry me and we can come back here and I'll die again. Round and around. Please. If he goes and I die here that's a good exchange isn't it?"_

The soldier handed the man's papers back.

"Alright, get out of here. And I don't want to see you go in any more ruined houses up the street. I'll be watching you and we shoot looters, so get out of here!"  
"Thank you! Yes. Good bye!"  
_"Good bye. Take care of them for me."  
_"Go on!"

And he went, Leopold just had space to step past Shizuku as her small body turned and folded over and made a gap in the doorway. She thought it strange that Leopold hadn't looked at her but he was probably very scared and anyway he knew the soldier could look after the fainting Japanese girl.

_"Yes, go on. Go to Italy. Take care of your wife and Luisa. But I'd move to Cremona if I were you, the air is better for her."  
_"Yes, I will. Thank you!"  
_"No need to thank me. I'll just die here. I'll be fine in a moment. When all this ends." _

Her view of the doorway, the perspective she had of it, now told her that her head was very close to the floor, it would hit the bricks soon, quite hard and that would knock her out. Which was good because she hated this. She just wanted it to be over.

The American soldier glanced back into the ruined house, just to check it over once. His gaze fell right across Shizuku's face. She thought he was quite good looking. But he didn't see the Japanese girl near the floor because in July 1945 she didn't exist. He turned and walked away. Seiji just managed to avoid him. She noticed he almost tripped the soldier up as the American stepped away. Seiji bent down towards her. She just had a moment to notice his neck chain. It had slid out of his shirt collar as he bent over. He always wore it, the key he'd taken from her hand in Firenze three years ago was looped onto it and he never took it off. Even when he was naked and laying with her he wore always two things. His wedding band and the key and chain. Shizuku felt sad because now she was dying she couldn't go with him back to the _Ponte del Vecchio_ and watch him unlock her padlock. And she wanted to see him naked again one last time. To touch him. To hold him and feel his heart beating. But now she never would.

_But no matter_ she thought, _he is moving fast enough to catch me and I'll die in his arms, the way I always wanted to._

Her head never did quite reach the bricks, Seiji stooped down quickly as she fell, and got an arm under her shoulders and pulled her to him just before she hit the floor. The other reason her head didn't hit the bricks was because in July 1999 they didn't exist.

"Whoa! Got you! That was nearly a nasty one."  
"Uhhh…," she moaned  
"OK, OK, let me just get you in here, hang on in there."

Seiji carried her into the shop. Luckily a man and his son were just inside the door and held it open for him. She had just pushed it and the man had caught it as it swung. That was lucky because it gave Seiji just enough space to catch her as she fainted. His muscles took the strain and held her. She didn't weigh much, despite the cakes and a big breakfast, it was lucky she was so slim. But then Seiji felt certain his muscles would have held her even if she'd been twice the weight. No way would he have let his wife fall.

He got her inside the shop, and lay her gently down. Her face was greyish-green, wet with sweat. He heard her say goodbye and then she turned her face away, dropped her file of maps and photos behind her where they scattered and then she vomited spectacularly across the floor.

-oOo-

_Seiji  
_

The shop owner was very good about it and we got her a chair to sit on. I went to the wash room and got a towel which I wetted and wiped her face and the shop owner got her bucket and mop out and cleaned up the mess.

It wasn't far to our _gasthaus_ and even though the shop lady offered to drive us there I declined – we'd been enough trouble. I picked her up in my arms and carried her. One arm under her shoulders, the other under her knees. She weighed hardly anything.

I undressed her and put her to bed and gave her plenty of water to drink. She slept most of the afternoon and I sat and watched over her. I felt there might be one important thing to do and I went out with my camera for half an hour and took pictures of the shop, the row of shops, the street and other parts of the town as well.

In the evening she awoke. I could take a fair guess at what had happened but she seemed to feel well enough to want to tell me. It was worrying, her description of this one sounded a lot worse than the first two. In both Milan and Venice she'd been just an observer and it was clearly her imagination playing a trick on her mind. But this episode had new elements of involvement in a past event – or what her mind told her was a past event. Luckily one of the things she mentioned was the rain. Now that was interesting for two reasons. First, she was not wet. Her body did not get rained on, despite what she saw in her encounter. It had been sunny all day. So that was good – it meant that had been in her mind. Second it was a small chance but worth asking Anna-Marie when we next met if her mother had ever mentioned in detail her fathers trip back to Oberstdorf and whether or not it had rained. If it hadn't we were home and dry, it was her imagination. If it had, well, that would be interesting but still no proof she had any strange kind of encounter or out of body event. Unfortunately there was little more to go on. She said she saw only Luisa's father and an American soldier. She saw no unit or rank identification on the soldier so we've no way to check anything there. She didn't recognize him. I had this horrible idea her imagination might have put Herr Liebgott's face on the man but she said no, he was a different man.

I was able to tell her quite categorically that there was no pause in time, no gap of any kind. She was walking a couple of paces in front of me, she put her hand on the door handle, pushed the door open, took one or two paces into the shop and then folded over and went down like a sack of potatoes, almost instantly. I dived down and caught her just before she hit the floor and then she puked. And that was that.

I'm certain she told me the truth. She definitely believes what she saw, I can tell from her face and the sound of her voice and the way she needed lots and lots of hugs that evening.

This does worry me, each of the three incidents has become stronger and more alarming. In the second one in Venice she says she heard people talking and in this one there was the appearance of her talking to a person and them responding. It is all still in her mind, I'm certain of it, but how harmful it might be to her I can't say. I think we should get her to see a doctor when we're settled in Cremona.

One other thing bothers me. In both the Milan and Venice incidents she gained something useful from it, they were 'external' events and she used both incidents as the basis of books, so there was a clear benefit from her gift. This one was completely 'internal' and personal – she saw events from the past that mean something to her personally, Luisa's father and the story she told her. Now is that just her imagination working to bring the story to life or did she really somehow see Herr Weismann's past?

I can't write it down but at the end of that thought I gave a big troubled sigh. This does seem to be getting more serious as time goes on.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

13 - 14 January 2007

For author notes about chapter 26 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	28. Ch 27 Mollers Patent

**Chapter Twenty Seven – Moller's Patent **

_Seiji – Hannover - July 1999  
_  
We stood outside the smoked-glass-y, rather arty looking offices of a software company. Freiheit Software und Rechnen the sign said. Even though it was high summer a steady drizzle came down and yesterday had been the same, making the journey pretty grim. We had a ten o'clock appointment with a lady called Lisette, a PR woman whom Shizuku had phoned when we left Oberstdorf. This was our last lead, the last chance to dig down to the bottom of the puzzle of who created the Baron and Baroness, and when. We already knew where, but a rubble filled bombsite in eastern Munich hadn't been answer enough. Shizuku had said she'd got the details of Freiheit from a web page and had first written to them over a year ago when they had still been making toys. She'd given me a smile yesterday when we'd started, she said she knew this was going to be interesting. It seemed the further we got from the start, from the wasted days in Munich, the more interesting it became. As though the obvious start point – the café where they'd been found, was the least part of their story. If you'd said that by midnight tonight I'd be in Berlin and Shizuku had spoken on the phone to a pre-war toy expert I wouldn't have believed you, but things were about to take a very curious turn.

The journey from Bavaria had been almost due north and 420 miles. We'd set off yesterday morning and with a break for lunch had reached Hannover in the late afternoon. We'd stayed the night in a characterless motel, clean but dull. On the way I had kept one eye on the autobahn and the other on her. Her reaction at the shop in Oberstdorf had been extreme and I was concerned for her health. I had these horrible thoughts that would not go away of blood clots or brain tumours. I kept these dark things to myself but had decided it was imperative she see a doctor as soon as we got to Italy. She was quiet at the start of the journey, staring out her window at the damp greyness. But as we went on, the conversation picked up and we found ourselves talking about her upcoming job in the Cremona tourist office and what that would involve. Apparently after a training period for her to learn about the town and surrounding districts (but mainly the places that are of interest to tourists in the city) and a test of her Italian, she'd be working either on the telephone enquiry desk with Asian customers or behind the desk in the office where visitors came in with enquiries. It didn't sound much to me but she was looking forward to it, looking forward to meeting people and improving her Italian. The tourist office had employed her for her Japanese, though, as they lacked anyone with knowledge of that language. She said she hoped she didn't spend all day talking Japanese on the phone. The irony was that her monthly salary was more than mine. Here I was making violins that I'd hope might last hundreds of years and inspire people many years in the future and she was being paid more for telling Koreans where the nearest public toilets were. Was there no logic left in the modern world?

Germany was certainly a country of contrasts. The pretty Bavarian Alps had given way to the open farmland around Memmingen and north from there the rolling hills of Westphalia, with their endless pine forests. Bad Bruckenau where we'd stopped for lunch being especially pretty. Then we left the hills and woods behind and after Fulda and Kassel came onto the north German plain, a land of rivers and industrial towns. Hannover was huge and the factories and industries sprawled for miles.

That night we went to bed early; doing nothing but sit in a car all day is exhausting and Shizuku still wasn't quite with it after her shock of yesterday morning. I finished in the bathroom and came out, naked. I found her still sitting on the end of the bed, staring at the floor in the position I'd left her in fifteen minutes earlier. She was in a stupor of exhaustion and worry. I lifted her up, took her into the bathroom, undressed her and put her in the shower. She just stood there so I soaped her, rinsed and dried her, she placidly let me tend to her. She leaned on the sink and I even brushed her teeth. Her period still wasn't over, and it had been a heavy one. I wasn't quite up to that but with her guidance (it was good to get her to help, she needed to do something) I managed even the tampon and put clean panties on her. I put her to bed. We lay there, she curled up, face against my chest, hands knotted under her chin. After a while she said something that really freaked me out.

"When I die, Seiji, you will be there won't you? Hold me in your arms when I go. I couldn't face being alone. But with your touch I could face it. Everything would be alright."

When your wife says that and she's not yet twenty, what do you say? I stroked her back and kissed her hair and then she started crying. She cried for ages until eventually sleep took her. I think yesterday the biggest shock had been emotional, not just seeing him, and seeing him with the doll, but her thoughts as she fainted. She'd told me everything that had gone through her mind as she fell, and it had frightened her, a raw fear she'd never experienced before. I couldn't really imagine what it had been like but clearly it had messed her up badly.

-oOo-

Lisette was a surprise. I'd expected an older woman, someone like a librarian. But Lisette was about twenty five, tall, blonde, pretty and… uhm… curvy. She wore a sharp dark suit with a very tight short skirt and the most amazing bright red lipstick and nail polish I'd ever seen. To say she was striking was a huge understatement. But she was good at her job. And she spoke excellent English, so we had little trouble following her conversation. She took us to the company's media room where normally they demonstrated software. Here she plied us with coffee and biscuits and took us through the basic company history. Freiheit had been around for years in one guise or another under various names and had focused on toys and games for a long time. But everything was changing and now computer games were replacing board games so the company was closing down its toys lines, selling off chunks of their operations and buying up small software developers and employing game code writers, 3D modelers and artists. What I saw of the company looked very well run and efficient, very slick. Someone here had a vision and the management skills to go with it, no doubt about that.

"But I understand you are not interested in that," she smiled.  
"That's right," I did the talking today, "we are interested in a small company that you took over many years ago, back in 1960 although I think it had been dormant, production wise, for some years before that."  
"Steuben, yes. They merged with two other small Munich doll and toy makers in 1951 but really they weren't producing anything by then. What our predecessor company did was buy them in order to protect their patents. It seemed it was Eberhard Moller Patentwerk that they were interested in. The Steuben and Schnee parts of the company were just baggage they picked up in the Moller purchase. I don't want to sound insensitive because obviously Steuben is of interest to you, but for our old company they were actually an irrelevance."  
"That puts our research into perspective."  
"I didn't intend to be rude or off hand, I was just stating the facts. I'm sorry for annoying you," she smiled again.

Really she could be as rude as she liked if she'd smile like that afterwards. And cross and uncross those legs.

"What was interesting about Moller?"  
"Jigsaw puzzles," she smiled again, "seems silly doesn't it, us sitting here working on space flight simulators and tank combat simulators and yet in 1960 a patent on jigsaws was worth much, much more. You see Moller patented a method of printing on cardboard a coating that was long lasting. Prior to that cardboard jigsaws would start to peel apart after a few uses. We didn't actually use it, but lots of jigsaw makers did. You go into any shop anywhere in the world and pick up a jigsaw. I expect it will have been manufactured under the Moller patent. So each of those companies paid us a royalty to use that process. We became very successful without hardly having to do anything."  
"And all the time the property of Herr Franz Steuben sat in your archives, with no-one in the world showing the slightest interest."  
"Indeed."  
"It's a strange thing, fate isn't it?"  
"If you believe in it, yes it probably is. But what is interesting is what the Steuben company left behind. I think you are going to like this."

She flipped her mobile open and called a colleague, asked him to bring the files in. Five minutes later a young man in workman's overalls wheeled a trolley in. On it were piled up several fat folios of what looked like artwork and some order books, accounts and various other files.

"And this is?"  
"This is all that is left of Franz Steuben's little empire. The whole lot. When I put your wife's request into our archives I was expecting there to be a lot, but when the warehouse manager told me what there was I asked him to deliver it all."  
"That's it?"  
"Yes, everything. Doesn't look much does it."  
"It may not be much but looking through this is going to take a while. Have you got any more coffee?"  
"Of course. I need to tell you a few things though. I personally have never looked through these files and while our archive records will list the contents those records are still held on paper only, and back at the warehouse. I have a photocopy listing here," she placed a stapled thin file of A4 sheets on the table, "We still haven't got around to recording everything digitally yet. So I need to tell you that nothing on that trolley can leave this room. Please wear these gloves when you handle the material. It's old, it's delicate and the oils and acids on your fingers can damage the paper. There is a rest room through there, please feel free to use it and I will arrange for a coffee maker to be brought in. If you need anything call me on that internal phone there, extension 1432. However as that material may be valuable I will have to lock you in. Is that a problem?"  
"I don't think so. Shizuku?"

She had been standing at the window throughout the conversation, staring at the grey day.

"Fine."  
"We'll be fine then. Thank you very much."  
"Good. I'll pop my head through the door in an hour or so to make sure everything is alright."  
"Thank you."

She left. I watched her bottom and legs go. I picked up a pair of thin white cotton gloves and pulled them on.

"Well, we ought to begin. How are you doing?"  
"Seiji, have you ever been in a place and thought something special was there? Even though you'd never been there before?"

I thought about this. Clearly something was spooking her and I tried to feel in her what it might be. She wore an air of sadness today, and the residue of worry from last night. This morning at breakfast she'd seemed a lot better, chatty, even. The bubbly girl I was used to. I had been trying to decide if she was really snapping out of it or if it was a screen, now she seemed to be slipping back.

"I don't think so. What are you picking up on."  
"What lights are on in this room?"

Hm, now this was a bit weird.

"The ceiling lights."  
"Any others?"  
"No. Just some daylight from the window."  
"What about the one on the trolley?"

I looked at the trolley. It was metal with rubber wheels and full of dusty old files. This was making no sense.

"There isn't one."  
"I feel a light there, a golden light. Maybe I'm not making this clear. It's not a light like from a light bulb or the sun, but I see something there. Glowing. There is like a heart beating there."  
"I can understand what you're saying but I just don't feel what you feel."  
"I could have used the simile of flavours, or sounds – what do you taste in this room or what do you hear – but the simile of a light source is the way I feel it most clearly."  
"So there's something in those files. It's important isn't it? This is going to help us."  
"Yes. It's here. The key. We're about to find out."  
"How do you feel about that? About your sensation of light?"  
"I like it. It fills me with confidence. Throw me those gloves. Let's get to work."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

14 - 15 January 2007

For author notes about chapter 27 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	29. Ch 28 The Rascal Who Loved a Lady

**Chapter Twenty Eight – The Rascal Who Loved a Lady**

_Seiji – Hannover - July 1999  
_  
Even though it didn't look like much, the paperwork was slow to go through because it was simply so interesting. There were several books of company accounts; rows and rows of Deutschmarks and Pfennigs – we put those aside, they were boring. Several files of correspondence, these were amazing: letters discussing different woods, cloth, glass beads for eyes, stuffing, paint. All sorts of old communications with suppliers. There was even a series of letters with Mercedes Benz, the car factory dated 1924 in which they had sent Steuben some plans and photographs of their trucks, apparently so Steuben could make wooden toy copies. I put the correspondence files aside – fascinating though they were you could easily get sucked into the past and waste several days in there.

The sales invoices were interesting, boxes of toy soldiers or dolls sold to such and such a shop in Munich or Cologne and a couple to Vienna. Franz Steuben's empire had been dead for fifty years, yet that morning in the unlikely surroundings of a computer games developers office in Hannover, it came alive again and I could almost hear the whir of their machines, sewing together dolls dresses or the rattle of their woodwork shop turning the wheels of toy trains on their lathes. I thought back to the kinds of people who may have worked there, ordinary artisans like me, young men probably doing the simple tasks before growing more skilled and moving on to perhaps designing toys themselves.

But it was the eight fat cloth bound pattern books that were the most interesting. These big files contained designs and pre-production artwork for a whole range of toys: wooden ships, cars and tanks, model yachts for boys to sail on the village pond, toy soldiers and of course, the dolls. The company seemed to have made endless varieties of doll. Baby and girl dolls were common but the sheer range of products just stunned me. Some were stuffed toys for small kids to cuddle in bed while others seemed to be aimed at collectors – there was one long series of Napoleonic soldiers dressed in bright uniforms of red, blue and green. Dashing hussars, garish lancers and several types of infantrymen. But it was the animals that Steuben had specialized in. I was flicking through a long series of farm animals when I noticed it was quiet across the table. Then the silence was broken by a sniff, the sound of a runny nose.

I looked up. Shizuku had her white gloved hand flat on a page, she was moving it slowly across an image, almost stroking it. I could see a grey dressed figure there. It had a brown head with ears sticking up. Before I got up and went around the table, before I even moved, I knew who he was. She had found him.

"Move your hand, I can't see him."

She lay her hand to one side. And there he was. The Baron. The picture was beautiful, some very skilled artist had drawn him and painted him in water colours. He was almost exactly like ours, the same grey tail coat, the same top hat and cane, that same raffish, dandy like air about him. An air of confidence, the attitude of a well heeled confident young man walking in the park on a sunny day. The lady cats all turning to look at him. Shizuku sniffed again.

"Doesn't he look lovely? So smart. If I was a young cat girl, I'd marry him."  
"Amazing, he's exactly the same."

I went to the shelf by the coffee machine and opened the metal carry case and lifted him out. I stood him on the table next to the pattern book and our eyes moved between the doll and the image of the doll. There was no mistaking it, not only was the water colour painting the original design for the doll but it was exactly the same. I could see only one difference, the picture depicted small feet and the doll was mounted on a wooden base. Our doll had bigger feet, slightly over scale size and no base. I preferred the production figure to the design figure, the lack of a base made it seem more real, like a real cat but magically frozen.

Suddenly Shizuku was weeping.

"Hey. Hey there, what's the matter? Don't cry."

I bent down and put my arms around her.

"I'm so glad I found him. This makes it all worth while."  
"Sssshhh, there's no need to cry over it."  
"I'm just so happy. I had got so stupidly worked up about this. Going all round Germany, spending hours and hours on the internet, bringing you into this private obsession of mine when you're really not interested."  
"Whoa, hey now. That's not true. Who said I'm not interested?"  
"Well the Baron has always been my obsession."  
"Shizuku, don't think I'm not interested. This is a fascinating search. Yes, at first I didn't understand your interest and I underestimated the strength of it and, well, maybe there's parts of it I still don't get – you were always much closer to Luisa than me. But the last few days have been fun – well mostly fun. You said it years ago. These two dolls are grandpa's gift to us, a message he wanted us to have, to make sure we understood. It's love. That's his message. And we are love, aren't we? So of course I'm interested."

She was still seated, I was behind her. She turned her head and tilted it back, looking up at me. Her eyes were wet.

"Kiss me."

I did.

She wiped her nose and went back to looking at that lovely painting.

"I just can't believe we've found him, oh, I feel so good about this."

Down in the bottom right hand corner the painting had been signed and dated. The artist's name was Hans and the date was "Juli 1926". That surprised us. We'd been expecting a date in the mid to late 1930s, but the Baron had been designed ten years earlier.

A bright light suddenly came on in my head,

"We can check the order books from 1926 onwards! We can find out which shops ordered these dolls from his factory. Where they were sold."

She stood up, pushing her chair back, and turned to me.

"Yes! That's fantastic! Oh, come here," she grabbed me and kissed me again, "Mm, you clever, wonderful man. What would I do without you?"

I went to the pile of order books and began flipping through them, looking for the one that started in 1926. We were both excited now, bouncing around the room like a couple of kids. This was fun, suddenly we were making real progress at last.

"Wait," she said, "dolls."  
"Hm?"  
"Dolls."  
"Yes?"  
"Dolls. _Baka!_ Dolls, dolls, dolls. Two of them!"  
"Dolls! Yes, the Baroness!"  
"She must be here."

She turned the page of the pattern book. The water colour paintings were fixed to a type of heavy duty board. This was punched through in four places near the spine of the folio volume and four black cloth ribbons held them to the books' binding making a crude hinge. On the back of the Baron's board was faded writing in a thin spidery hand – quite a lot of writing.

But it was the next page we looked at. Because there she was. We had never seen her like this. To me the Baroness had always been in a white brides dress, the dress grandpa made for her. Shizuku had seen her for a few days as a ruin, worn and broken in Anna-Marie's shop but I couldn't remember back to the one time I'd see her like that, the night she had packed her up and sent her to Japan. But looking now at that second picture I realized what we had been missing, what grandpa had been missing for fifty years.

The restoration he had done was excellent but if this painting was as faithful to the original doll as we now knew the painting of the Baron was to _him_, then grandpa had failed to quite catch the essence of the doll. I think he had used too much stuffing in the head – our Baroness was quite round-faced, chubby in a cute way which made her look young and a little playful. But the lady cat we looked at in the painting was a _real _lady. She was just completely charming, her face was slim, something like a Siamese cat, pointed elegant features with a rather refined look to her. She was a lady of taste, a noblewoman, a cat from the highest ranks of society, a cat princess. Beside her the Baron looked quite a character, alone he looked like a dashing young beau, but placed beside her he took on a whole different character. He seemed to be a man out of his league, a rough diamond, a man aiming too high in society, courting a woman beyond his means. But he was clearly a man of style, a man of daring and wit, a handsome ruffian. I had always imagined him to be the Baron and a lady had married him and taken the title of Baroness from him. But that evidently wasn't the case. She was a lady of pure blood, a Baroness and he was a social climbing adventurer, and he'd pulled off the most daring social match of the cat world and won his girl. It was because she was a Baroness that he took the title of Baron. It was amazing that a doll maker might do this. Individually the two dolls were well made, but only if a person bought the pair would they see and understand the artisans joke. He was probably a poor man, something of a rascal, a hopeful rascal possibly. Perhaps he had one good suit and would wear it on Sundays and go walking in the park and give the elegant ladies the eye, swinging his cane, raising his hat and charming them with his wit and guile. Some poor workman who had a dream of meeting a girl from a better family had done this, in his toys he had met and married the girl of his dream and maybe Shizuku and I were the only people now alive to see his joke, feel his dream, to understand the lovestruck motivation of some factory artisan from three quarters of a century ago.

I looked from the cat lady's face to the girl beside me. Neither of us had said a word but I could see that she had made the same connection. Shizuku had one hand raised, covering her open mouth.

"Oh, my God, he's in love with her isn't he?"  
"He is. And he's way out of his league."  
"But she's fallen under his spell."  
"He must be quite a charmer, to catch her eye."  
"I think her father despises him, he's low class."  
"But she's smitten, she sees past the class conventions and sees the heart of the man."  
"I think they might elope together, run away and secretly marry."  
"I hope so."  
"My God, the man has written a whole fairy tale in two toys."

I sat down, it was almost too bittersweet to bear. Years ago I had been stunned by the discovery of the intentions of a stonemason who had carved some cherub figures for an Italian fountain. Now here was a man doing the same thing, telling a story to people he'd never know. A story about himself and a lady he secretly loved. In his dreams they were together, but what of reality? I could guess but I didn't want to, it could only be a sad ending. It was only in his toy-making that this lovestruck man had found his girl. It was so sad. I stood up again and the two of us were suddenly hugging once more. I held her tight and realized what lucky people we were.

-oOo-

The Baroness painting was also dated "Juli 1926" and signed "Lotte" a female artist. The faint script on the backs of the pictures was impossible to read as our German was so limited. While I flicked through the 1926 order book Shizuku spent the rest of the morning copy typing very carefully all the written material. I reached the end without any reference to "Katze" which I knew to be the German word. I started on the 1927 book, and ploughed through most of that. I'd got to October and was seeing double, lots of trucks and cars, Noah's Ark animal sets and soldiers, but not a single "Katze". Nothing. My eyes went to the trolley again. I could see the 1928 order book but quite frankly I was running out of steam now.

Shizuku finished transcribing the writing. She went to the phone and dialled. She asked Lisette if there was any chance of something to eat and mineral water to drink. She also enquired if it would be possible to have colour photocopies of the pattern book paintings done. She went back to the table and sat looking at the painting of the Baroness.

"Sandwiches alright?"  
"Mm, fine."  
"Find anything?"  
"Not yet. Do you want to stay until I finish this one?"  
"How long will it t…"  
"Sorry?"

I looked up. She was looking at the Baroness painting, she flipped the card over and looked at the Baron, then back to the Baroness. Flip, back again.

"What is it?"  
"Seiji, come here."

I went over.

"Look at the signatures, the dates."

Flip, flip. Flip, flip. She swung the top picture over the bottom one, then up again. Back. Up.

"See anything?"

Yes, I did.

"It's the same signature, the same style of writing. Look at the "J" of "Juli" and how the "7" has a curved corner, not an angle.  
"I agree. But if it's the same artist why do they sign themselves "Hans" on one picture and "Lotte" on the other?"

I was as confused as her. She was right, it didn't make sense but there was no explanation either.

"Did you get anything from the notes on the back?"  
"Not much. I think it was manufacturing instructions, materials and so on, but I can't be sure. I need to get it properly translated."

Hans and Lotte. Hm, I'm sure I'd seen that somewhere just now.

"Shizuku. I've just had an idea. Come here."

I went back to the 1927 order book, it had been in the spring. I'm sure I'd seen it. I flipped through it quickly. Shizuku stood beside me, she leaned down on the table, on her elbows. I couldn't move through the old book too fast in case I damaged the pages. And then suddenly there it was. June 1927, the tenth:

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Donnerstag 6-10-27.  
Hans/Lotte Zwei paare (Nr.1/2) – Alberts Spielwaren, Kurfürstendamm 80, Berlin.  
Hans/Lotte Drei paare (Nr.3/4/5) – Zuckerbruder, Kaufingerstrasse 27, Munchen.  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We both looked at the entry. I marked it with a slip of note paper and went on. In the next hour I went through that whole book twice and found no more Hans/Lotte entries. Not one. Shizuku went back through the 1926 order book from July to the end of the year. Nothing.

"It's their names isn't it?" I hardly dared suggest it.

She was leaning on the table, head in her hands, mind dulled with the effort of looking at old book entries. She'd not moved or spoken for five minutes. I had come to pretty much this conclusion a while ago but was afraid to say anything in case it raised false hopes.

"I think you're right. I think this order shows two sets of them being sent to Berlin and three sets of them to Munich. And from what we've seen only five sets were ever sold."  
"Amazing. I wonder why?"  
"No idea. Perhaps the notes on the backs of the pictures will give us a clue."  
"Hans and Lotte."  
"Are those common names in German?"  
"No idea, but maybe, maybe names that children might know from early reading books perhaps?"  
"Hm. I still prefer 'Baron' and 'Baroness' myself," she looked at me.  
"So where does 'Humbert von Jikkingen' come in then?"  
"No idea. You should know, it's what your grandpa called him."  
"He'd called him that ever since I'd known him. It never occurred to me to ask."  
"Perhaps it was a name he made up."  
"Or maybe they both made it up when they were in Munich and he told Luisa stories about him."  
"Hm. We'll never know."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

15 - 16 January 2007

For author notes about chapter 28 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	30. Ch 29 Lisette and Hubrich

**Chapter Twenty Nine – Lisette and Hubrich**

_Seiji – Hannover – July 1999  
_  
The sandwiches and iced water arrived.

"How are you getting on? Oh, wow, you seem to be making progress."  
"Yes," Shizuku replied, "we're finding some interesting things. The names Hans and Lotte, are they common in German?"  
"Oh, yes, two of the most common probably. I don't know anything about Japanese names, but in English you might say John and Jane."

Shizuku and I exchanged glances.

"On the back of these pictures there is a lot of German text. We can't read it. I don't suppose you could translate it for us could you?"  
"Well, that would be difficult," Lisette squinted at the spidery script, "I think that would take some time to see clearly in German anyway."  
"Will this do?"

She turned her laptop around to show the transcription she'd made.

"Oh, well, you have been busy."  
"I know it's a little rude of us to ask, but if you have someone available who could translate to English for us, or even Italian, we could pay you."  
"Oh, I don't think we could ask for payment. I'm a little busy today but I'll see if I can get one of the boys in the office to do it. I know a couple of them have good English. Have you got a floppy disk?"

She had. She copied the two transcripts onto the disk.

"I really can't promise anything, but I'll ask the boys."  
"Thank you very much, I appreciate your help."  
"Do you need anything else?"  
"Well, yes, actually," I spoke up, "Would you please just quickly read this in English for me?"  
"Hm, let me see."

She glanced at her watch. Busy lady. Her body language told me she'd rather be elsewhere. I think our translation requests were pushing our luck a little. I regretted asking her at once. She came next to me and looked at the order book, The entry was typed so it was clear enough to read. But Lisette was very close, her right elbow touched my left as it lay on the table. I could smell her perfume and a very bad thought went through my mind. I shut that out straight away.

"Oh, yes, that is quite easy," she looked at me. Her face was less than a foot away. She was very pretty. This bothered me, she was too close for politeness, "I'm sorry, Mr. Amasawa, I didn't catch your first name?"  
"Seiji. It's Seiji."  
"Seiji, nice sound. OK, Seiji, this says 'Thursday June 10 1927, Hans/Lotte two pairs (numbers one and two), to Albert's Toys, and then a street name in Berlin. That's the Kurfürstendamm, one of Berlin's most famous shopping streets."

Every time I breathed in I could smell her perfume. This wasn't good, I began to get uncomfortable. I moved my elbow a little and created a gap. She went on.

"The next line is similar – Hans/Lotte, three pairs (numbers three, four and five) to Sugar Brothers. Hm, don't know what that is a shop name perhaps? And that is in Munich. Oh and again the Kaufingerstrasse."

She moved. I absolutely know she moved because I was watching carefully. Her elbow pressed against mine again, more firmly this time.

"That's another famous shopping street. If those are toy shops I imagine they would be high quality ones because of the addresses."  
"Lisette, thank you very much, that's a great help."

I stood up quickly and went deliberately round the table and stood behind Shizuku. I put my hands on my seated wife's shoulders. If she didn't get the message now then she was wrong in the head.

"I think we'll wait for your people to do the translation work. And if you could please colour photocopy these two paintings and the reverse of each?"  
"Certainly, Seiji, that won't be a problem. Let me take the book."

She gave me a smile, the sexiest smile she'd worn all day. I noticed something odd. She picked up the pattern book with her bare hands. Wasn't she the one who'd said we shouldn't do that? Then I noticed her left hand - third finger - no ring. Was that why she'd not put gloves on? She left the room. I forced myself to look out the window. I didn't want to look at her legs again. Shizuku had been typing Lisette's translation on her laptop on the fly. She finished. She didn't seem to have noticed what had just transpired between Lisette and I. I had some very bad thoughts in my head and forced them away.

"Well, now what?"  
"Have we looked through everything on the trolley?" she drummed her fingers on the table.  
"Not everything. I ignored the accounts books, they were just columns of figures. There are the correspondence books."  
"We are going to be here a while yet, I think."  
"What time is it?"  
"Just after two."  
I sighed, "I'll go through them then."

-oOo-

Something made me go to the last books. They were dated "1939 – 1948" and "1949 – " as though the person who kept them had simply got bored of logging the final entry. I thought it might be interesting to see how the company had died. I'm glad I did. In the 1920s and 1930s the letters and orders were frequent, the place must have been bustling. Then in the 1940s I noticed things tailed right off very steeply. The company must have struggled financially. Then in 1942 it all stopped. Nothing. This must have been the period when they did work for the army. There was one very official looking letter with an eagle emblem on it. The eagle sat on a Swastika and it felt strange to hold in my hands a real Nazi memo. I'd only ever seen them in glass cases in museums before. I couldn't read it.

Then in 1951 there was a flurry of letters around April and May. I read the names of Moller and Schnee.

"Shizuku, here are the merger letters, when Steuben joined with the other two factories."

She came and sat by me, in a tense atmosphere we turned other pages. Wondering what we'd find. There was a gap of nine years. Nine years in which Moller, Schnee und Steuben had apparently done no work at all, or at least the Steuben part hadn't. One more page. 1960 was the date on the letter and it was from Freiheit Spiele. The year they bought the Moller patents and the empty husk of Steuben went with them. It felt odd to sit here and see the actual documents that laid out the story of the take over that Lisette had spoken about earlier.

After 1960 there was just one more letter. I looked at it. Unlike all the others which were yellowed with age, this last one was on white paper, almost fresh. The date it bore was 1991. I glanced at it. The name across the top was Berlin Spielzeug-und Puppe-Museum, Potsdam. A museum. What kind of museum? Neither my German, nor Shizuku's was any good for this. I scanned down the page but she saw it first. Her finger went straight to it:

"_Hans und Lotte Katzepuppen; Abbildungen und Informationen_."

"Look – 'Katze' is cat, 'puppen' must be dolls – cat dolls. And 'information' gets mentioned at the end."  
"Shizuku, look. Freiheit Spiele is the company name in 1960 and in this letter a museum is writing that has 'spiele' in it's name."  
"Spiele is to play, so perhaps 'game', or 'toy'"

And then it made sense. Again Shizuku was quiker than me and blurted out:

"That's it – the Berlin Toy and Doll Museum! They wrote to the company in 1991 asking for information about the Hans and Lotte cat dolls."  
"I wonder if they have some in their collection?"  
"Is there a name on the letter or a phone number?"  
"Hm. Tillman Hubrich 'Historiker und Berater' and his phone number, look."  
"'Historiker'? Historian maybe?"  
"Phone him. We have to. If this museum in Berlin has two dolls we've got to go and see them."  
"How far away is Berlin?"  
"No idea. The road atlas is in the car."  
"Go and get it. We could leave now."

Suddenly we were all bouncy and excited again. A new lead.

"One problem. Doors locked."  
"Phone Lisette."

At that moment the door opened and she came in. She stopped and looked at us. We were both standing, frozen in the act of movement. Shizuku's hand reaching for the phone, me by the door. The German woman looked at this strange tableau and smiled her usual smile.

"Am I interrupting something?"

I turned away.

"Shizuku, you talk with her." I said quietly as I went back to the table.

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15 - 16 January 2007

For author notes about chapter 29 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	31. Ch 30 Lisette Suffers Death By

**Chapter Thirty – Lisette Suffers Hypothetical Death by 1926 Order Book **

_Seiji – __Berlin__ – July 1999  
_  
We gave Lisette the museum letter and asked her one final time for a quick translation and a photocopy. She gave us a brief verbal translation. It was indeed from the Berlin Toy and Doll Museum and they were asking for pictures and information about the Hans and Lotte dolls. They confirmed that they had two dolls in their collection. The letter was from Tillman Hubrich, Historian and Advisor.

We were about done. Shizuku asked Lisette how far it was to Berlin: a four hour drive or 150 miles. If we left now we'd be there by nine or ten. Overstaying our welcome, Shizuku asked her if she could recommend any hotels in Berlin – ones that were not too expensive and Lisette gave her a list of three or four that their company sometimes used when there were computer gaming conventions in the city.

As we were leaving Lisette spoke to me. She said if they found any other papers in their archives could she call me and let me know. Without thinking I said yes, so she asked for my phone number. And there I was, stuck. And that's how she got my number. In return she gave me her business card. She didn't waste time.

We said our goodbyes and got back on the road. When Lisette shook my hand I absolutely know she gently stroked my palm with one of her fingers. I'm not imagining it. I'd given her what I thought was a clear 'not interested' signal but she persisted.

As we made our way out of the city, caught up in the early part of Hannover's rush hour, Shizuku made two phone calls. First she booked a hotel, she went for the cheapest of the four Lisette had given. We weren't interested in a nice room or a good view or location or a four poster bed or any such luxuries. We only needed to sleep. And cheaply.

Second she called the Berlin Toy and Doll Museum and asked to speak with Herr Hubrich. It turned out he didn't speak any English, or Italian, or Japanese so she was stuck. He handed her back to an assistant and by a fairly broken confused conversation she told them we would like to visit Herr Hubrich tomorrow and show him two Steubener cat dolls and we wanted to see their two and discuss their history. Herr Hubrich was taking a student class in the morning but he would meet us at two o'clock in the afternoon.

She flipped her mobile closed and stashed it away in her bag, heaving a sigh that all those jobs were done.

-oOo-

I got us out of the city and onto the autobahn. Heading east, we began to eat up the miles, it began to get dark. She turned her head away and closed her eyes.

"By the way, I didn't ask today, how is your tummy now?"  
"All finished for another month, thanks for asking."  
"And your head? Because of Tuesday?"  
"I'm not really sure. I don't feel so bad now. I think passing time will fix it."

We sat in silence for a while, the radio playing pop songs. After a while I noticed her eyes were closed. She'd been looking at her doll file. I saw she had the photocopy of the painting of the Baroness doll on her lap along with a photo I'd not seen before. A black and white image of a young woman in an old motor car. I switched the radio to a classical music station and turned it down a little. I let her sleep for a while.

-oOo-

It was dark now and the rain had ceased. I watched the tail lamps of the car in front. An hour went by. Two. Three. Bach, Mahler, Debussy and Gershwin kept me company. The signs showing the kilometers to Berlin ticked down. We were in a mechanism of a giant clock.

-oOo-

There was movement to my right.  
"Good sleep?"  
"Not really, just dozing. How far is it?"  
"Less than an hour now."  
"Have we anything to drink?"  
"Might be some water in my door pocket. Wait. Here."  
"Mm, thanks."  
"She made a pass at me."  
"What?" she turned to look at me.  
"Lisette. She made a pass at me. I could tell. When she was next to me translating the order book."  
"Did she?"  
"Yes she did and I'm annoyed. It was so obvious. Didn't you see?"  
"Sorry, no, I must have been busy."  
"You heard her though, didn't you?"  
"Yes, she asked your name, and said it was a nice name. I remember that."  
"And she touched me, with her elbow."  
"That's hardly significant."  
"Shizuku, I know what happened. She was way too close, and way too touchy feely. I know she was coming on to me. It was so obvious, that's why I'm telling you, so you know."

She looked at me in a strange way.

"Seiji, I do believe you're embarassed."  
"Of course I am. I was in the same room with my wife and a pretty woman who wears a wide belt for a skirt comes on to me. Of course I'm embarrassed!"

She smiled a cheeky smile.

"Hm, you're getting quite worked up over this."  
"Dead right I am! It was an insult to you, coming on to me like that right in front of you! I'm telling you in case you saw anything and thought I might be interested!"  
"And are you?" she kept that teasing smile on her face.  
"No, I'm not! How can you think that?"  
"Just asking. This happens to me sometimes."  
"What?"  
"Men try their luck. It happens at least once a week at work."  
"_They what?_" I was going red, I could feel it.  
"It's no big deal, Seiji, you great big fool. Take it as a compliment."  
"Oh, hold on, wait a minute. Men make passes at you at work?"  
"Mm. All the time. It's what men do."  
"And you never tell me?"  
"No, of course not! I wouldn't tell you if I scratched an itch on the back of my hand would I?"

Call me slow but I just wasn't getting this line of conversation at all.

"Wait, wait. You're telling me that most weeks at work a man chats you up? In a sexual way?"  
"Well maybe not in a sexual way, but flirty, yes."

I was dumbstruck.

"Seiji, there is _no_ problem. It doesn't _mean_ anything. Men are like that. All the time. It's how they just _are_. Hey, I would never ever say yes. You know that don't you?"

I wasn't sure now. This was shaking my world. Her face changed. The smile went.

"Hey, Seiji. Oh, my darling, you do know I wouldn't say yes? Come on, of course I wouldn't! That would be a disaster for us, how could I?"  
"Hm, well, you've got more experience of these things than me clearly. I've only ever worked alone in my workshop with a few boy students. Whereas you…"  
"Whereas I what? I'm a woman of the world, a woman of experience? A gorgeous babe who has to fight men off with a baseball bat day in day out? I wish. Seiji, I'm sorry, I just am amazed how little experience you really have."

I gave her a black look.

"Oh, no, sorry, that came out all wrong didn't it? But you are just such a boy sometimes, a lovely, lovely boy but really very inexperienced."  
"You say that as though _you_ are. That's what annoys me."  
"No. I have never touched anyone but you. I have never even kissed anyone except you. Oh and my mom and dad of course. It's just that I've done lots of stupid little jobs and come across men in a big way, they are such losers most of the time. They try things on as if they are computers with broken programming, its just some sort of automatic thing with them. Flirting like that doesn't mean anything, it happens all the time. I have my wedding ring on, they know I'm married. Some of them are too, its just part of the office way of life."

I considered this. Maybe she was right. I hadn't had much experience. I'd had a silly crush on a teacher when I was ten or so and apart from that Shizuku was the only girl I'd ever liked in that way. I suppose I _was_ green. But it was how I wanted it to be. I loved her like crazy, I didn't want anyone else. I was reminded of that conversation the Italian boys had had in Firenze, how they'd treated their girlfriends. And here I was living my life with the idea in my head that my body belonged to my wife and no-one else. It certainly wasn't mine to give away. I just didn't want to. Yes I saw girls all the time that I thought were pretty and attractive and of course I had thoughts about that, I mean who doesn't? But I just ignored those feelings, pushed them away. It was like looking at a car and thinking about stealing it – the thought crossed your mind but the act of doing it was simply out of the question.

We went along a stretch of autobahn where there had been recent rain. Spray misted the air behind each vehicle and each car momentarily became a ship on the sea. Red lights came on and the traffic slowed. I pulled out and went past two trucks. I ran the wipers to clear the spray.

"Can we close this subject? I'm not really enjoying it."  
"Sure, if it's a problem for you. I just want you to know that I don't have any problem with a woman like Lisette flirting with you. I absolutely trust you. If it's fun, go along with her, there's nothing in it, as long as you send her a clear signal as to where the line is drawn. You never ever go over that line. Do you follow?"  
"Mm, I think so."

_no, actually I haven't a clue what you mean. If someone comes on to you how do you let them see the line you've drawn? I've never had to draw any lines. _

"Good. And I want to tell you, Seiji, that I never have such feelings towards anyone else. Ever. You do trust me don't you?"  
"Of course I do!"  
"That's good. That's as it should be. And I completely trust you. So I would not be in the least bit worried if Lisette had come through the office door in her underwear and sat on your lap. Because we are so much in love I needn't even think twice that you would be interested."

She was smiling at me. I took my eyes off the road and smiled back. Well, that was one way of putting it. But there was an interesting option there…

"So if she did, just suppose she did…"  
"I would've sat and watched and enjoyed a good laugh. Because your embarrassment would be so cute to see."  
"Hm, maybe. So, talking hypothetically, how long would you let her sit on my lap? In her bra and pants? Hm?"  
"You see, now you're talking! That's more like it, that's how a person who treats it light heartedly should talk! Although I'm not convinced she was wearing a bra."

I considered that image. She watched me considering it.

"I'm serious. How long?" I wanted to see how her sense of humour dealt with this.  
"Talking hypothetically of course."  
"Of course."  
"Bra or no bra?" her cheeky smile was back,  
"Lets run the 'with-bra' scenario first."  
"About ten seconds. And the topless scenario would end after five. After that I would be guilty of murder."  
"See? You _don't_ trust me."  
"The question was hypothetical." She folded her arms and looked smug.  
"Hm, so this murder you'd have committed. Me or her?"  
"Hm, let me think about that… Well, talking hypothetically of course. Did you kiss her in that ten seconds?"  
"I thought I only had five."  
"I'm working with the bra now. Topless, if you'd even breathed you'd have died."  
"You're being tough on me."  
"We're still hypothesizing here, yes?"  
"Hm."  
"Well in the topless version my hand may have slipped a little while holding her on."  
"Both of you then. A double murder. Death by 1926 toy factory order book. It's a nasty way to go, so don't you ever tempt me."

She smiled oh so sweetly at me again.

"Does she wear tights?" I thought I'd string her along a little more.  
"Must be, that skirt's too short for stockings."  
"Lets revise the scenario then…"  
"Hypothetically?"  
"Hm, hypothetically. Ready?"  
"Ready."  
"Right then. Here we go. Topless. Panties. Stockings and suspenders. High heels."

She looked at me carefully.

"Pervert!"  
"Hey, whoa, wait up! This is hypothetical remember?"  
"Oh, is it? Sounds to me like you've thought about this a lot."

I blushed. How can I blush in front of my own wife?

"Just answer the question!"  
"Well if that happened, she'd be dead from my fifty yard stare the moment she opened the door."  
"Oh. Shame. No sitting on my lap for even five seconds."  
"Nope."

I looked downcast, and put on a sulky pout.

"Don't be too upset Seiji."  
"Why?"  
"Now I know what to buy when we next get the chance to go shopping."

I smiled.

"And how long would _you_ sit on my lap dressed like that?"  
"Oooh, let me think…"  
"Hypothetically of course."  
"Oh, of course."  
"Well?"  
"Hm, how does about an hour sound?"  
"That would be a hypothetical hour, would it?"  
"Mmm, very. But we could run a field test if you like."  
"We could, yes."  
"But one test would be no good. In order to get a useful statistical sample we'd have to run several tests. Over, say, the course of a weekend."  
"That might be quite tiring."  
"I'm not that heavy, I wouldn't hurt your legs would I?"  
"It wasn't my legs I was thinking of."  
"So, yes or no? Do you think you could survive a series of hour long live tests with me dressed like that on your lap? I should warn you that I would get bored just sitting there. I'd need to do something." her face was just completely dead pan. She was much better at these games than I.  
"Mm, I think so. What are our plans the weekend after next?"  
"Well on the Saturday morning I'll be going to that lingerie shop in Cremona, the one near the station… You can come and help me choose something if you like."

I did like.

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15 - 16 January 2007

For author notes about chapter 30 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	32. Ch 31 Hans und Lotte

**Chapter Thirty One – Hans und Lotte **

_Shizuku – Berlin – August 1999 _

The traffic into western Berlin that night was atrocious. The rain started again and I think there had been an accident because at one point we sat staring at the back of the car in front for half an hour with no movement. I tried to sleep but there was too much on my mind to relax. The traffic would crawl a few yards then stop again. Frustrated and tired we eventually got to the hotel near midnight. Seven hours to get 150 miles. Mindless with exhaustion we dumped the gear and crawled into bed. I think I was asleep within a minute.

Friday. The thirtieth of July. The day I would finally chase this elusive ghost down.

The rain had stopped. Opening the bedroom curtains was a mistake. The room faced onto an internal light well and a brick shaft of other dirty windows was beyond the curtain. In disgust I drew it closed again and went to the bathroom. It was not a good bathroom either. I hated that room, that hotel, the cheapest of the ones Lisette had given me and still more expensive than the _gasthaus_ in Oberstdorf and nowhere near as nice. Remind me to avoid hotels in Berlin next time, they're a rip-off.

After breakfast we had half the day to kill and no idea where we were. This was Potsdam, south west Berlin. We'd got no maps of this part of Germany and were miles out of our way. But it was at least dry, although breezy, so we threw on coats and began walking.

Potsdam so I've since found out is a very old part of the city. The German kings and princes had their palaces here and hundreds of years ago the seat of government was here. There were parks, lots of big old buildings and fortunately cafés every few yards. We walked by a lake, fed some ducks and just wasted time doing nothing but be together. After the hectic traveling of the last week it was good to be able to just spend time with him and talk about nothing much at all. We wandered along a path beside a lake, holding hands in silence for a while.

"We'll be finished here today?" I asked,  
"Hm, should be, although the way things have gone the last few days I have no idea what to expect next."  
"We're a long way north. It's going to be about three or four days drive to Italy."  
"Hm."  
"Are you happy driving all that way?"  
"Don't mind. Getting a bit bored with it though. It's the cost that I'm getting worried about."  
"We'd need to stop overnight three times."  
"And the petrol, probably need another two tanks."  
"I can think of an alternative."  
"What?"  
"Another train."  
"That's going to be expensive."  
"Why should it be? Not more than the car rental, two tanks of petrol and three overnight stops, surely?"  
"It would be a whole lot easier for me. I should be able to drop off the rental car here. There must be an AVIS office at the Hauptbahnhof."  
"Let's do that then."  
"Deal. Depending on the price. If it's a lot more you'll just have to put up with my driving for a bit longer."

Fortunately it wasn't. Yes it was more than the petrol and car hire and hotel stops but not that much. The saving on Seiji's nerves would be worth it. And I had plans anyway. Naughty plans.

We got a bus into the city centre and he booked us onto the Berlin-Paris sleeper. All these expensive things. I worried about how much we had already dented our funds. But it saved us a whole day, maybe two, and Seiji could relax and not worry about the drive, plus we could put aside the problem of finding somewhere to stop each night. The train was due to leave at half past nine and would get us into Paris at nine tomorrow morning. The Milan train left Paris that evening at about eight thirty so we'd have a day in Paris which was a bonus. We'd arrive at Milano Centrale at six on Sunday morning. We'd have to change from the German train to a French one across Paris unfortunately - there were no through trains. That meant a taxi from the _Gare du Nord_ to the _Gare de Lyon_. Hm, more expense. But I didn't really mind, my thoughts were already turning to the pleasure ahead of two nights on a sleeper train in one of those intimate small bunks. With him. Mmm. I always felt like this just after my period. We never made love while I was bleeding – we had once, and Seiji hadn't minded at all but I'd hated it – so messy and dirty. So with four or five days without it I was so ready again. I think I'm getting worse, the longer we're married the stronger my sex drive seems to get. Honestly, sometimes days and days will go by when I can't keep my hands off him. I don't hear him complaining of course but he does admit that I wear him out. I just seem to have grown up into some kind of maniac where this is concerned and the thought of two nights and a day alone with him in a private compartment was already making me restless. He was just such a gorgeous man, so inventive, so imaginative, such fun. Listen to me, I must be in love.

We stopped in the city centre for lunch then went back to the hotel and collected the car and our mountain of luggage. The Berlin Toy and Doll Museum was on the north side of Potsdam and it took a while to find, but it was one of those journeys and days that you realize are worth the hassle. What we found in the museum was worth all the trouble of that horrible night journey on the autobahn and the expense of that terrible hotel.

"I feel like a secret agent," I said, "chasing some criminal mastermind across Europe from glamorous city to glamorous city."  
"That must make me your loyal sidekick, assigned from Interpol to be your driver and make sure you don't shoot too many enemy spies or seduce various diplomats and blow our cover."  
"We're almost there now, we've pursued our dangerous quarry through northern Italy, across the Alps, Bavaria, Germany, he must know we are closing in."  
"When we arrive at the rendezvous, you go in the main entrance, I'll go round the back."  
"We'll clear the ground floor first, then work our way up the stairwell."  
"Ah, the stairwell scene, you can't have a good spy movie without one."  
"The Big Man is bound to make for the roof, they always do."  
"And the sidekick only then discovers his fear of heights."

I turned to him,

"Seiji, I really feel like this is it this time. This man Hubrich has two of the dolls. That means…"  
"…Finally we'll get to see an original Baroness. I can't wait."  
"It is exciting isn't it?"  
"Hm. I feel I'm really involved in this now, it's been quite an interesting week."  
"I've sucked you in."

He looked at me and raised one eyebrow. We both started laughing at the same time.

"I'd forgotten all about that, what with all the excitement of yesterday. I suppose you're in your usual mood."

I said nothing, I merely smiled at him. I leaned over against his shoulder and put a hand on his leg. I began to stroke him.

"Not now, please! I'm not that good a driver yet and these foreign road signs and mad drivers are bad enough without you doing that."

I moved my hand higher.

"No. Stop. This is not a good idea," he brushed my hand away, "You'll make me have an accident."  
"That's the idea."  
"Look, I know I'm so hot that you can't keep your hands off me but you'll just have to wait."  
"Hm, you're no fun."  
"Look, woman. Important meeting with cat man now. Fun later."  
"Huh, OK, if I must."

I kissed his cheek quickly. Tonight was going to be so good.

-oOo-

Herr Hubrich was like a slightly mad professor. He was about fifty, very round and wore an old tweed suit and a mustard coloured velvet waistcoat. He had a huge mop of blond hair which he kept sweeping out of his eyes with a weird flick of the head. He wore a red bow tie and even had an old pocket watch on a chain. I imagined him as a backroom boffin who'd give the spy in our movie all his secret gadgets, like a James Bond story. He spoke nothing but German so a younger version of him, a man in his 30s called Artur and clearly heading down the same path in his career translated for us. Herr Hubrich seemed a bit grasping and greedy and his first request was to see our dolls. I got them out. It was quite odd seeing this fat man enthusing and almost foaming at the lips in delight when he saw the Baron but being behind a language barrier we couldn't catch the small things. Having his words translated by someone else meant we probably missed some of the more subtle nuances of his commentary but enough came across to let us understand that he was in a private cat doll heaven. I noticed he wore white cotton gloves like we'd done in Hannover. He spent a few minutes just looking at the Baron, he stood him on a round revolving platter like you get in Chinese restaurants and just slowly turned him for a few minutes. Looking, carefully looking.

"Yes, this is a very good example. Very good indeed. This doll is almost completely original. In fact I think it's entirely original. Young lady is it yours?"  
"Yes."  
"Well this is the finest example of a 1920s Steuben doll I have ever seen. Whoever owned it before you must have taken great care of it, it has not been stood in sunlight or damp conditions. Do you know its history?"  
"Yes. He was bought in Munich in 1939 from the previous owner who had him in a café in the Englischer Garten. Since 1939 he has been owned by the same person and kept in Tokyo. The Baron came into my possession in late 1995."  
"Der Baron?"  
"Yes, that's what I call him, what the previous owner called him."  
"So you don't know the ownership details prior to 1939?"  
"Sorry, no."  
"Young lady, this doll is extremely valuable and should be taken care of. How do you store it?"  
"Just on my desk in my room. Is that bad?"  
"No, but keep it out of sunlight and direct artificial light. Try not to subject it to big changes of temperature or humidity."

He looked in his ear at the cloth tag.

"Hm. Number three. A Munich doll. You've seen the number here?"  
"Yes, but I never understood what it meant."  
"_1927KM3_. The doll was made in 1927, the third in the series and 'KM' stands for Katze Mann: male cat. We are fortunate in that the one in our collection is number one but yours is in better condition. Is it insured?"  
"No."  
"Arrange insurance for it. Please. At auction with the right collectors present it would fetch 20,000 Deutschmarks.(1)"

My jaw dropped open.

"How much?"  
"One million six hundred thousand Yen." Seiji supplied from just behind me.  
"Oh, wow. I never knew."  
"Please take good care of him. As far as we know he is the only other one in existence."

Herr Hubrich looked at me and gave me a smile. That was the first time he'd referred to the doll as a 'him'.

"May I take photographs of it before you go?"  
"Yes, that would be fine."  
"I would like to type up a provenance for it as well, it's known history back to 1939. Would you sign that and leave your name and address for me?"  
"Yes, I see no problem."  
"Thank you. I will give you a copy of course. Now, what do we have here?"

He carefully picked up the Baroness and stood her on the revolving platter. He went into his silent appreciation mode again. After a few minutes:

"I need to look under the clothing, may I undress it?"

I made a gesture of acceptance. He removed the hat, veil and parasol and carefully took off the white dress. I'd never seen her closely like this. He checked her left ear and made a grunt, then he felt her padded arms and face, pressing, squeezing. He carefully held the body and where the wooden legs came out from the lower part he examined the material closely.

"It is a pity. Your male cat is a fine example. But this one on the other hand…" he made a gesture, a shrug, he wasn't happy, "it has very little original material left in it. Its wooden core, the head and the eyes and the stem of the parasol are all that is left of the original. The core has some damp damage although it won't deteriorate further. Someone has treated the wood chemically with a quality stable preservative. In defence of the restoration job it is very skilful work, quite exquisite although not true to the original German style. What is its history please?"

I told him. This story took some time. I found the memories of grandpa and Luisa and Leopold and the war all coming back. I saw Leopold again in the ruins of the house. I saw the Baron again as I had in the Earth Shop, and as I'd sat by grandpa's fire, hearing him tell me the story. When I finished he was quiet for a few moments.

"I see. Quite a story she has to tell, hm? She is a very lucky cat. I think she may have used up most of her lives, no?"

_she_

"What about the restoration?"

_Baka! I knew you'd ask about that. My eyes began to sting. The lump was back in my throat.  
_  
"A Japanese restorer. The work was done from memory. The craftsman had seen her in 1939 and she came back into his hands in 1995. He restored her from memory."

The fat German looked at me. He must look at hundreds of old toys every year, hear hundreds of stories like this. He held my gaze quietly for a moment. There was a faint smile on his lips.

"Hm. I see. Still, an impressive job. However I do need to tell you that this doll is almost worthless because of the damage it has suffered. May I write a provenance document for it also?"

I nodded. Then I asked the questions I'd had in my heart for years:

"Can you tell me anything about their history, or the history of the Steuben company? We were in Hannover yesterday and spoke to the people at Freiheit so we have seen their archives. I'd really like to know exactly when they were made and who the craftsman was."  
"Ah, and that's how you contacted me, hm? Well, I have been to Freiheit as well. I wanted to copy most of their archive at my expense but they would let me take only limited copies so in the end I was there a week. I transcribed a lot of information from the files. Did you look at the company account books?"  
"No, not closely. They were all columns of figures, we thought they were uninteresting."

He smiled again,

"Lots of people do. However if you can bear to see past the boring numbers, old company accounts can be revealing. You see the payroll numbers and wages are in there, which means you can build up a picture of the numbers of staff and their jobs. The purchase order dates and amounts are there so it is possible to get a good idea of the production volumes and the type of work being done, and so on. You know the dolls were designed in 1926?"  
"Yes."  
"In July 1926 Steuben had only one artist on their payroll. The pattern book paintings were done by a lady called Raffaela Mahler. There were 28 staff on the company books in 1927, of which two were the directors – the Steuben brothers, and four were senior craftsmen. Let me tell you a little bit about Steuben and doll making in Germany between the wars. It was in decline. Before the war, particularly the years 1900 to 1910 you might call the golden decade of German doll making. The craftsmanship of those years was the finest and dolls were produced often as collectors pieces. After the first war - the 1914-18 war - Germany was rather in a mess. No-one wanted to buy expensive toys and the whole industry went into decline, almost a collapse. Many companies stopped trading or produced other things – the wooden toy industry particularly in cars and planes slowly became popular, but generally speaking the toys were for children, aimed at a different market."  
"Hasn't that always been the case?"  
"No. Not in Germany, not always. As I said, toy collecting was big business at the turn of the century. But after the war mass production methods meant reduced quality. By the late 1920s German companies were producing almost nothing of quality. You see the cost of such work meant that there was very little profit in it, people were no longer buying quality toys as they had before the war. And staff wages had gone up, costs of materials had gone up. All the profit margins were cut. And, well, it is a fascinating story for a historian such as myself, but to cut out a long story, by the late 1920s when Steuben made these dolls, almost no one else was making toys like this.  
And from a sales point of view they were a failure. You see they were so well made, of such quality and craftsmanship, and the wages of the artisans were so high, that they really cost too much. People were no longer willing to pay such prices. Steuben only made five pairs, all of them produced in March and April 1927. I have been able to identify expenditure on materials for around that time in the company accounts. The glass eyes were what led me to this conclusion. You see these particular glass eyes were of a certain quality. Steuben had never used that type of glass before and they never did again. There is an accounting entry for the order of two dozen glass eyes in February 1927. Twenty of them were used in these dolls and the remaining four were probably kept in store for repair work. Being the third in the sequence I expect your doll was made in April. April 1927. And sold to a Munich toy shop in June."  
"Were they all sold in pairs?"  
"Oh, yes, didn't I say? That was another problem. The craftsman who made them all was a man named Johann Creutzer, he was Steuben's senior artisan in 1927. There is an internal memo from him to Friedrich Steuben dated March 1927 in which he says the dolls should only be sold in pairs. And of course that put the price way up and reduced the potential market even more."  
"We didn't see any internal memo books in the Freiheit archives," said Seiji.  
"No, you would not have. Because they are not there. They are in our collection. The memo books came up for auction in Munich in 1993. The seller remained anonymous although it is generally thought that he or she was an ex-employee of the company. And that is really all there is to say. After five pairs of probably the finest dolls made in Germany after the 1914-18 war, production stopped and the company moved on to cheaper, more mass produced toys – their wooden cars and soldiers for example. If you have been through their archives you probably know the rest."  
"Yes," I still found it a sad tale, "We do. Thank you very much. This has been an amazing story and I'm very glad you agreed to meet us today. You've been very helpful."  
"The museum has a booklet on the Steuben history, written by me I should add, so it is not very good."

He smiled. That smile of self-depreciation was the first glimmer of a humorous side he'd shown us.

"Does it cover the story of the cat dolls?"  
"Of course. Dolls are my speciality and Steuben produced some of the finest. I'll give you a copy."  
"Thank you."  
"And if you let me have an address I will send on copies of the provenance certificates and photographs."  
"Well, really, that's very good of you."  
"Now, if you'd like to leave the dolls here I will arrange to have them photographed and you can collect them later. But first, let me show you something. Come."

He led us out of his office and downstairs to the main museum floor. We walked through several rooms with all sorts of amazing exhibits in – model railways, planes, boats, soldiers, the most wonderful huge dolls houses, various games and puzzles, more teddy bears than I think I've ever seen before. It was a walk through Germany's childhood. We entered another room, a room full of glass cases. In them were dolls of all shapes and sizes, every conceivable kind. Part way down one side of the room we stopped.

"Here."

And there they were. The Baron and Baroness again. Our cats but different. Well, in him I saw no difference at all except perhaps the grey of his coat was a little lighter, perhaps this was the fault Herr Hubrich had meant: faded by sunlight. Other than that he looked exactly like ours. It gave me a funny feeling. Grandpa's Baron standing in a glass case, a flow of air running all the time to raise the pressure in the case slightly above room pressure so that no dust could ever get in. A Baron preserved beautifully but never touched, never posed differently, never talked to, never hugged or cried over. He was a prisoner. A cat in a zoo.

And her. I can't say quite what I felt when I saw her. The same feelings came over me as when I'd seen the painting of her in Hannover. Only stronger. And better. Simply… more. She was really pretty, the thinner more elegant face of the original made her quite different to our cute round-faced Baroness.

She wore a wide-brimmed bonnet on her head. A straw bonnet with a sprig of flowers on one side. A fancy blouse embroidered with a flower motif. A long red skirt, down to the floor, very full and pleated. Little white gloves and a white parasol folded in her paw and made of fine gauzy material.

She and I stood there for a few moments, quietly staring at each other, meeting each other. I almost wanted to bow to her, she was a lady cat of fine manners and upbringing. I reached into my file and took out the photo of Luisa in Falco's car. I had thought that she was dressed very much the same but no, that would have been a crazy co-incidence wouldn't it? Luisa wore a high round hat, a plain blouse but a similar huge skirt. Probably a normal skirt of the times.

There was one thing though.

Her face was much rounder than the doll's face in the glass case in front of me. Rounder, like the face of our Baroness upstairs.

-oOo-

We had found the place they were born. We had the name of the man who had made them, the man who had been in love. We had a date of birth.

I was satisfied. That was it. Complete. The search was over. I felt like I did after a good meal. But I was also sorry that it was over, the searching, those long frustrating hours in the night on the internet, the strange chase, the journey, the fascinating people we'd met on the way. It had been a great experience. I decided to write up a journal about this and keep it with the photos, the maps, the transcripts of Luisa's conversations, the material from Hannover, the Steuben booklet and the provenance letters. Perhaps, one day, I would pass the file on to my children. Along with a large box containing something precious wrapped secretly in tissue.

I turned to Seiji and took his hand.

"Thank you for bringing me all this way. You were great. I'm done here. Let's go."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

15 - 18 January 2007

(1) Germany adopted the Euro currency on 1 January 1999 (as a side note so did Italy, replacing the Lire), however Herr Hubrich being an old fashioned guy is still thinking in Deutschmarks seven months later, as many people did. 1 Deutschmark :: 2 Euro :: 80 Yen (very approximately in 2007 – I don't have 1999 exchange rates but I'm fairly sure the Yen was weaker then).

For author notes about chapter 31 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	33. Ch 32 Waiting: The First Time

**Chapter Thirty Two – Waiting: The First Time **

He lay the damp, sweet smelling polish cloth down on the bench. He picked up the part completed number 29 and turned it over carefully in his hands. He tilted it so he could look along the back of the body. He squinted looking for anything wrong, any small mark or flaw or misalignment to catch his eye. He carefully ran one finger tip along one side. It was smooth, the polished wood shone. The distinctive shape of a violin always reminded him of a woman's body, of her body. The neck, the shoulders, the narrow waist and the swelling of the main soundbox that were her hips. As in her, he could see no flaw. As with her, when he ran his fingers along her flank, there was no imperfection. As with her, she was pleasing to look at. As with her, she smelled sweetly.

He lay the instrument down. He lifted his arms, arched his back and enjoyed a long powerful stretch. Hm, enough for today.

He checked the time, just after six. In Brussels it would be after five. She'd have finished her meetings for the day now, surely? He wiped the polish off his hands on a piece of clean cloth. Reaching for his phone he flipped it open and dialed. He got a message that her number was unobtainable. Phone switched off. Must be still in the meeting, although she'd usually set it to silent ring so she could at least know he'd rung her. No matter, it wasn't important.

He gathered up his things, turned off the light, locked up and walked home. In late winter it was always dark when he finished work. On the way he stopped for a bite to eat at a café and didn't get into the apartment until seven thirty. She'd definitely be finished by now and be back at the hotel. He phoned her again. Her phone was still switched off.

Well, it was possible that they'd finished the meeting and gone straight out to eat. It had happened before. He was worried though.

Seiji went to sleep that night wondering what this might mean.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

19 January 2007  
(minor tweaks for timeline continuity 22 January 2007)

For author notes about chapter 32 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	34. Ch 33 Via Versecchi

**Chapter Thirty Three – _Via Versecchi_ **

Shizuku had been studying his profile for a few moments. Then it struck her again.

"You _are_ growing your hair longer aren't you?"

He turned to look at her. He'd been wondering when she'd mention it.

"Took you a while to notice."  
"No, I noticed way back on the train to Munich. But I never mentioned it. How long are you going to grow it?"  
"Not sure yet. I'm seeing what it does. I was thinking of a pony tail."  
"Really?" she sounded pleased,  
"Hm. Now I'm an artist and doing arty things, I need to look the part, wear the style."  
"Oh, I see, all very Bohemian then."  
"Yeah, a bit like that."  
"Just don't grow a beard. I hate it when you are all whiskery."  
"OK."  
"I like your face all smooth and kissable."

She demonstrated her point by running her fingers down his cheek and jaw, across his chin and gently over his lips. She followed up her hand with her mouth.

"I was thinking of growing it a little at the sides, just over the ears so it's a bit shaggy. We'll see how that goes, then a ponytail at the back."  
"A long one?"  
"Don't know yet."  
"Do you want a woman's opinion?"  
"I think I'm going to get one."  
"Well I think you should grow it a little at the sides so it's more shaggy, just down over the ears, and then at the back, a ponytail, a fairly long one, not one of those silly little posey ones some guys wear that hardly touch the collar."  
"Well that's a co-incidence, just what I was thinking."  
"Good."  
"You'd like me with long hair?"  
"Hm, yes. I think so. Sexy."

She raised an arm and ran her fingers through his hair. It had always been thick and slightly out of control. It would stick up in odd places, like he'd just got out of bed and not bothered to brush it. She used both hands now to pull and push chunks of it about, trying different effects. With her arms up like this her face was close to his so he bent down and began to kiss her.

"No, stop that, I'm experimenting with a look."

She pulled her face away to one side and looked around him. It was long enough already at the back for her to grab a small knot and get an idea of what a ponytail would look like on him. Trouble was, with her head to one side like that, her neck was exposed and he put his mouth there and began to explore her skin.

"Sshh, no, stop it!"

Using the knot of hair in her fist as a handle, she pulled his head away from her body.

"Ow! That hurt."

She moved her head back, out of reach of his lips, put it to one side, then the other, considering how his hair it might look.

"Yes. Go for it. I think it'll look good."  
"If there's any left that is!"

They were on the little balcony of the attic room at the Hotel Alfonso. They had been in Cremona a few days now. Their two week planned search in Germany had taken only a week in the end, so on the train on the way back Shizuku had phoned Tony to ask him if they could move their planned stay at the hotel forward a week. Tony of course was quite happy to do that, no problem at all, he'd said. Shizuku had wondered if he was going to move some other guests to another room but she didn't make an issue of it, it was his hotel and he could run it how he liked. They just did seem to take advantage of his kindness rather a lot.

By finishing their German trip early they had the luxury of several days at the Alfonso with nothing to do before they were both due to start work. Her job at the tourist office and his apprenticeship at the violin workshop were both due to start next Monday, the 9th August, so they had some time in which to relax, buy that underwear she'd teased him about and try it out. They both decided the field tests were a success and from that day on she never wore tights again. Bare legs in the summer, stockings in winter. She decided they were so much more practical anyway, especially in the bathroom, and they were healthier in warm weather, and they made her feel so much more feminine, more sexy. She could be sitting at work, at her desk and get a little buzz of pleasure from just knowing she was dressed that way. And of course the main reason was, he loved seeing her in them. They raised his temperature by several notches, which was fine by her.

But that week had also been useful to start looking around at apartments. They agreed they wanted to live in the centre of the old city – his workshop was there and her office too so that way they could walk to work and not have the expense of buying a car or train tickets. It took more than two weeks in the end to find one they were happy with and Shizuku had to ask Tony to extend their room booking. She was beginning to feel quite bad about that. But finally the day came when they moved in.

It was a tiny place, just four rooms: kitchen/diner, bedroom, lounge, shower room. It was in a very old block of buildings on the _Via Versecchi _on the north side of the old town towards the railway station. These big old town houses had been built about 1890 and divided up and converted to apartments in the 1980s with no renovations since then, so the place was fairly tired and run down. But that was alright because it meant it was a good price. If they were careful with their money they were actually solvent – just. Her salary combined with his was more than the rent with just enough left over to live on. Not much could be saved aside for a rainy day but really they just didn't care, it was their first home and they loved it: every stain on the tiles, every crack on the window panes, every dripping tap. It was magical and they filled that small home with love.

The day they moved in started out as something of an anti-climax. But it ended well. They packed their bags at the Alfonso, said good bye to the attic room one last time, filled a taxi with their belongings and on the way across town called in at the rental agent to sign the papers and pick up the keys. The taxi dropped them off. Seiji turned to her.

"Just wait here, give me a few minutes."

He grinned and took some of the bags up. There was no lift and they were on the third floor, the top floor. He came back down a while later and took the rest of the bags. He winked,

"Just a bit longer."

He returned a second time.

"Now, what else was there? Did I forget anything? Ah, yes."

He stepped up to her, bent down, placed one arm behind her shoulders and the other under her knees and picked her up. She squealed and laughed but held on to him, arms around his neck. And he carried her, up all three flights of stairs and to their doorway. He'd left the door open. He stopped, just outside and looked into her eyes for a moment.

"Welcome home."

He kissed her, then stepped over their threshold, kicking the door shut behind them with one heel. She was amazed, the apartment was full of flowers; there was a vase of them on the kitchen side, another on the small dining table, a third in the lounge and another by the bed.

"Where did they come from?"  
"Yesterday, I arranged with that nice girl at the letting agent to bring them in."

A simple thing like flowers transformed the place from a house into a home. Their colour lifted her spirits and their smell filled the rooms. Shizuku was reminded of the smell of flowers when the door had opened and she'd entered the chapel on their wedding day.

He carried her, still giggling, into the bedroom and lay her on the bed. By the bedside was a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"It's traditional to bless a new home," he said  
"Is that what the wine is for?"  
"No."

He stood over her and undressed. She watched him. She watched every part of him. Then he bent over her as she lay on the bed and undressed her. Then with giggles and laughter they blessed their new home in the way they enjoyed most.

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19 -20 January 2007  
(and minor tweaks to details 22 January 2007)

For author notes about chapter 33 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	35. Ch 34 The Dream

**Chapter Thirty Four – The Dream  
**  
Seiji sat at the table, Shizuku's laptop in front of him. A long and very boring spreadsheet was open on it. He was working out if they really could afford to live here. He was trying to think in Euros but force of habit made his brain stay in Yen. His apprenticeship salary was 85,000 a month, hers 104,000. The apartment rent came to 112,000 so that left them with just 77,000 Yen a month. From that had to come insurance, the municipal tax, gas and electricity, the water and sewerage, their phone contracts and the internet line. The raw facts were that 36,000 Yen had to buy them food and drink for a month and if anything was left over, clothing. Other luxuries like going out anywhere and actually enjoying themselves were way down at the bottom of the heap and would only happen if they used their savings. They might just about break even if they bought no clothes and ate as cheaply as possible. But if they ate well and had any kind of entertainment or bought any luxuries they were in the red. That wasn't acceptable. They had to get themselves solvent somehow. They had been so lucky at the wedding, in Japan guests don't usually give gifts, but money. His dad had paid for the whole thing and point blank refused to accept any payment from Seiji toward that cost from the gift money given by guests. So they had walked away from that with 1,720,000 Yen in the bank including the amounts the two of them had saved from their jobs in Japan. But the flights, the Germany trip, the two and a half weeks stay at the Alfonso and some basic things for the _appartamento_ had bitten over 550,000 Yen out of that. Yes they had reserves but these weren't growing, they were shrinking and that had got to stop.

He would be twenty next March, and the March after that, twenty-one. Then his mom would sign over the Earth Shop and it would become his. He'd then be responsible for renting it out. No doubt he'd keep using the same managing agent his mom did. The income net of management fees and maintenance was 120,000 Yen, so when that happened, in 18 months time, their problems should be over. _If_ he could get tenants into the Shop each month. With luck, in the meantime he'd begin supplementing his income by selling a violin now and again, and of course Shizuku was still sending her work to publishers but so far only rejection slips were coming back.

Really, it wasn't a good situation. She sat opposite him. He looked up at her and spun the laptop around. She didn't need to read the red figure at the bottom of the screen, she'd already read it in his face.

"We can't not buy new clothes from time to time. Or a bottle of wine occasionally. We can't not go out. Seiji, we'll go mad of cabin fever."  
"I agree, but I see no options. What do you suggest?"  
"We can't rely on one of my books landing on the right publishers desk, or someone coming to you needing a violin. If either of those happens we'd just have to treat it as a bonus."

She looked at him unhappily. He hated to see her face like this.

"Shizuku, we never said this would be easy. We just have to live with this and make do. Yes, we can use up the savings. I don't want to but we may have to. As far as clothing goes I won't need much but you'll need suits for work, you're seen by the public so you need be presentable. And from time to time - well, we have to go out to keep us sane."

He smiled,

"Having friends like Adamo isn't cheap."  
"I'll ask around at work. There may be a chance of promotion or doing something else."  
"But you enjoy what you're doing now."  
"I do, but if it means getting thrown out of the apartment for not paying the rent, then I have no choice."

He stood and went around the table. He took her hands and drew her to her feet. They held each other. There wasn't anything to say, but the comfort from holding each other helped. They would always have that. Over his shoulder she could see out the window across the city, see the _torrazzo_ of the _Duomo_ floodlit in the September dusk. This was it. Their dream, what they'd been looking forward to for years. What she had ached for during all those awful last months of school. She _would_ make it work. He had committed so much of himself to this, his work was so much more demanding than hers and his pay obscenely low. It made her cross. She decided then and there to look for different work. They had two options: not eat or she found a better paid job. She decided another job was a more achievable aim.

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20 January 2007  
(minor tweaks 22 January 2007)

For author notes about chapter 34 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	36. Ch 35 Song for a Graveside

**Chapter Thirty Five – Song For a Graveside **

After their return from Germany, after they had organized somewhere to live and started work, things seemed different. This was their life now. And it went on day by day, week by week. The only high points, the only sparks beyond the routine might be when Seiji got some interest from someone wanting to buy a violin (no serious interest yet, sadly) or if Shizuku got anywhere with selling a story (one or two publishers back in Japan made kind comments but again, no, nothing definite there yet either). Other than that they settled into a nine-to-five life (or in Seiji's case an eight-to-seven life some days) very much like the rest of us.

Shizuku even got into the job of running a home with all the enthusiasm only first-time home owners have: the dusting, the vacuuming, doing the laundry, washing up and cooking. Even the ironing (which she hated but did anyway because it had to be done). All skills she'd only played grown-ups at before (she'd smile recalling how Shiho or her mom had had to shout and moan at her just to get her to make her own bed) but now she had to learn these skills for real. She did enjoy it; it was especially nice to have him come home and they'd cook together and wash up together but those days when he worked late and she came back to an empty apartment, she still got a buzz from doing a half hour's laundry before he came in. Because it was new, and fun. And because it was a way of serving him. These jobs might be dull, and tiring but she'd promised on their wedding day to do this and Shizuku took that promise very seriously.

But there was still something about this ordinary life – about the life the rest of us live – that was fresh and exhilarating to them. For one thing they had each other, and this was still new and wonderful. It would remain new and wonderful for years and for that they were blessed with a special relationship; one with such intimate connections, one that not enough of us have the privilege of having. The special thing between them was perhaps because they were aliens in a foreign land and so they leaned more on each other. Or it may have been because they until recently had known only school and had suddenly, at a young age, been brought together and were having to make their way alone in a new and confusing environment. Or it could have simply been the depth of their love. They had always been this close and were growing closer as the months went on. There had always been an intensity to their relationship. It was so deep, it burned so bright and had been forged under the heat and blows of a difficult past – those first two painful months apart in 1994, Cremona in 1995 and the wonderful discoveries then, the death of his grandpa and all the problems and baggage from that that he – and she – had fought to shake off. And of course Kinu's death. While not yet twenty they had endured things that some people haven't by the age of thirty and this gave them a special resilience, a toughness and a closeness that some couples never have.

Some days there was such a burning intensity, an animal aggression in their lovemaking that it scared even them. Seiji would some mornings wake up and his back would be sore. In the shower room mirror he would see blood and scars on his shoulders, bruises on his neck. The scary thing was that Shizuku, when he showed her his battered flesh, wouldn't remember causing the wounds, even though, when she looked under her fingernails, she would find there his dark clotted blood. There were times when the powerful waves of pleasure he caused in her were so intense she would scream. Sometimes what he did to her made her scream more than once before he was still. If it was late at night the people next door would bang on the wall and the two of them would collapse into fits of laughter. On other days they might come together so slowly and gently and peacefully that Shizuku might feel she could go to sleep in his arms before he'd finished. Their passion knew both extremes and they seemed to not be in control of it. They did not understand what this meant. They just knew that these early days of their marriage were special days, days when their bright horizon knew no clouds, no darkness could be seen at the end of this summer day and no shadow took away the heat of the burning sun of their joy and innocence.

-oOo-

Those times were ending though. The change would be gradual and would come slowly over the years, but nonetheless, come it would.

-oOo-

One Saturday late in September they called at the art shop and Anna-Marie was so pleased to see them. She came out from behind her desk, her face painfully alight with happiness. She shut up the shop at once and took them out for lunch. She talked endlessly about all sorts of things; her business, the shop renovation, uncle Anton's garden, a new suit she'd bought. She talked on and on bubbling over the whole time and laughing far too much. Seiji and Shizuku hardly spoke. Afterwards he said to her:

"Why is she so unhappy?"  
"Do you think she was?"  
"Yes. She spoke all the time, she was hiding something I think."  
"Loneliness, I expect. She said to me on the phone, the day her mother died, that she was lonely. I think I need to come and see her more often. Or – why don't we invite her round for dinner one day soon? It doesn't have to be anything special I think she'd appreciate the gesture."  
"Fine by me. She definitely needs to be around people more."

A couple of weeks later Shizuku phoned her and asked where her mother was buried, and would she mind if she visited the grave. Anna said she would take her to the cemetery herself. She went every two weeks or so and would be going again Saturday, if she'd come to the shop in the late morning? Seiji was (again) at the workshop that morning but she asked him if he'd like to go with them and he said yes, he'd be there at the shop in time.

When he arrived he was carrying a violin case.

"Why did you bring that?"  
"All finished. Last night. But this morning I did a final check and tried her out."  
"Number twelve?"  
"Uh-huh."  
"Seiji, you've made a whole violin since you've been here – in six weeks?"  
"Mm. I won't do that again for a while, it was too much hard work but I wanted to do this to see what I could do."  
"All those early starts and late evenings were because of this?"

He had hoped she'd be pleased. He had poured so much of himself into this one, these past weeks.

"Hm. I know what you're thinking."  
"Please don't do that again unless you have to. I want to see more of you. If the Signore insists then that's different but volunteering our time away is something I don't agree with."

Her words deflated him. He opened the case and showed her the instrument. She still wasn't experienced enough to know what to look for in a good violin, to her it looked pretty but it was just a violin.

"Shizuku. She is my first _Italian_ violin. I made her under his instruction, this is made in ways, using techniques I didn't know in Japan. And I'm getting better. I _know_ she's good."

She was unimpressed. Had she known then how much he would eventually sell it for, she would have been less hard on him.

The cemetery was a huge municipal one, stretching acres across a low hillside a mile or two outside the city. There were well tended lawns, fruit trees and hedges to break the space up into more intimate sections. But that didn't disguise how vast the field was. The dead in their thousands lay under here and whenever she was near the dead she was reminded of grandpa and of Kinu. Anna parked the car and led them fifty yards to a grave marker exactly like many of the others. Shizuku was shocked to see the lady bend down and clear away some grass and leaves, lay fresh flowers all the time talking to the lump of stone in the present tense. Like you'd talk with a friend when you popped next door to borrow some milk. She could hear her telling her mother how the plants in the garden were doing, what her cat had been up to and about a picture she'd sold the day before. This wasn't right and Shizuku thought of Seiji years ago unable to move on after grandpa had gone. Anna had no friends, no-one to get her to move on. Shizuku decided it would have to be her. She didn't begrudge that, it would be an honour to help this lady who had been so kind to her, but she thought again how lucky they were to have each other to lean on when things didn't go well, when here was a person who had no-one. It had been sixteen months since Luisa had died and Anna should not be like this.

She looked at the grave stone. They were all there, all four of them: Waltrun, Leopold, Rinaldo, Luisa. There was a blank space lower down the stone. Enough space for Anton and Anna-Marie, she thought. This was depressing, she didn't want to be here. Anna stood up and now Shizuku knelt and laid her flowers on the grave. She found she had no emotion in her at all. This was just a lump of rock under which was just earth, and things returning to earth. There were no people here. Their spirits were elsewhere. Anna was silly to talk to them here. She could talk to them anywhere, at any time of the day or night. Fixating on this place wasn't healthy.

"Excuse me Anna, can I have the car keys? I left something in there."  
"Of course, Seiji. Here."

Shizuku heard his firm footfalls recede down the gravel path. She stood. She wanted to open a conversation with Anna but the names on the grave held her lips closed. Later, talk to her later. The two women stood in a companionable silence. Shizuku looked up at the trees. Their leaves were just beginning to colour brown at the edges. The chlorophyll in their veins was receding back into the branches and the trunks, to wait there as winter came. To wait for the spring. Autumn was coming. Another year over. Seiji returned. She glanced up at him. He carried the new violin. Without a word of explanation he stood a little way from the grave marker, from the two women and began to play. This was another tune she didn't know, another pale, gentle, melancholy sound. She wondered when he had the time to write. He didn't seem to have the time at home and she knew he had worked like a demon in the workshop, so when had he written this? The tune was subtle – when it began it made you think it was a sad one. It dwelt for a while on things lost, things that were over and dead. It ached for love now gone. But part way through the theme changed ever so slightly, it lifted and there was hope underneath, it came gently out, like a young bird first time from its mothers nest. It moved cautiously and then, at the end, it spread its wings, sang with joy and flew across the cemetery. Shizuku looked up again and felt it pass, she saw again the dying trees and this time saw not an ending but the signs of life waiting for rebirth, for a new beginning. She felt calm and even expectant. Luisa had once said his talent was wasted making violins, that he should play. Today Shizuku wondered seriously if he should do neither but should be a writer. There was a sound next to her. Anna-Marie was blowing her nose. The older woman looked at him,

"Seiji. Thank you, that was wonderful. Did you write that?"  
"Hm. Some years ago. I've not played it for a long time."  
"When did you write it?" Shizuku asked him  
"Just after grandpa died. You don't know but a couple of times I went to his grave and played it. That was early on, when I was confused and upset and didn't understand the pain."  
"It's beautiful. Thank you for playing it," said Anna.  
"It's better now, I've changed a few things and it ends better. It says now what it should have said first of all but my heart wasn't in it the first time. I think…"

he paused, Shizuku rarely saw him like this, with emotion like this on his face,

"I think it works here too. Because they were friends, so I thought I'd play it."  
"Thank you," Anna looked at him levelly, carefully, "Did you know that my mother talked about you a lot, Seiji?"  
"No. About what?"  
"Well, because you were Shirou's grandson. She had an interest in you through him, projecting her wishes and hopes I suppose."  
"What did she speak about?"

Shizuku suddenly felt an edge in his voice.

"Do you remember when we came to Tokyo, and we stayed with you for some time after his funeral? I remember you didn't seem to be around much, you were always out. At school, and after school out on your bike, I think. But Luisa spent a lot of time talking to your mother and father. Through me, since she knew only German and Italian. My English is fair and of course your parents know some so we got by."

Seiji was looking carefully at her, his eyes fixed her in his bright gaze. Not that long ago, a few years back, Shizuku thought, this kind of conversation would have been difficult for him. He would have been embarrassed and stared at his feet. But look at him now. A different man. She saw the confidence in his eyes, in the whole way he held himself. Anna went on.

"And when she was very ill, in the hospital, in those last weeks of course we talked about lots of things. She told me she wanted you to hear this. She spoke with your mother and father, particularly with your mother. You see, your mother was close to her father. There were things he shared with her that he didn't share with his son in law, that he didn't share with anyone. So my mother found out a lot about you, your hopes and dreams, your motivations. Your fears. Oh, no need to look surprised," she smiled, "Shirou knew what was going on in your head. He saw your self-denial. So did your mother because he confided in her. They did love you, you know and care about you and talk about you. They didn't want you to be hurt. Luisa told me that when you were here the following year – that would have been 1996 I think? That she was able to use what she'd found out from your mother. Use it to help you. And when she was in hospital mother told me that she wanted you to know. I think it was because she was still in love with Shirou over all those years. She never quite forgot him, or let him go. And in you she saw him. Do you see?"

Seiji nodded at her. He had perhaps worked this out for himself.

"So, well, there you are. She wanted you to know."

For long moments Seiji was quiet. By way of reply all he did was lift the violin to his chin again and play. It was the same tune as before but this time he didn't just play it. He lived it. He believed it. He dug down deep into it and hurled it out so that the young bird of hope this time didn't come out cautiously and uncertainly but soared up with strong wings, with power and grace. And this time Shizuku cried. He finished. Both women now were wiping their noses and had red eyes.

"Come on," he said, "how about some lunch? I'm buying."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

21 & 23 January 2007

For author notes about chapter 35 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	37. Ch 36 Millennium

**Chapter Thirty Six – Millennium**

Autumn came, the autumn of that first year. Their first Italian autumn. They were both surprised at how mild it was. The Mediterranean climate meant it was never really cold, and clearly, down here in the low lying districts, snow never came. It was wet though, and the rain often reminded them of Japan. The river Po would swell and flow faster and parts of trees and bushes could be seen moving down in its deep brown swirling water, casualties from some unknown incident on its upper reaches where its tributaries were born in the Alpine foothills. In autumn too the tourists went and the school year started and there were more students in the academies. Shizuku decided she liked this time the best. Of course the summer was wonderful, the heat and the happy crowds of people but in the autumn and winter the city was full of young people, people who had come to learn. And being Cremona that meant the arts – music and the graphic arts particularly. The city took on a whole different character, and instead of feeling like a holiday camp it felt alive. It felt for the first time, to them, like home.

Shizuku turned twenty in November. That Friday evening when she came home from work the apartment was dark and quiet. On the kitchen side was a note. _The Fire Escape_, it said. They had explored up there when they first moved in. At the back of the _appartamento_ and reached by climbing through the bedroom window, the steel fire escape gave egress for all the apartments down into an alley behind the town houses. But if you went up, just one floor, it led you onto the roof. There was a flat space between two pitched roofs. She went up and found him there. He'd got hold of a small metal folding table from somewhere and two little chairs, garden furniture they looked like. Candles were lit on the table and around the flat roof. There was a bottle of wine and a take away. He wore a suit.

"Come. Sit. I want to play you something."

She did. And he did. And in the dark stillness, with the city bustling below and around them, he took her away for a while to a place only they knew. To a wooden house high on a Tama hillside that once had a magical workshop basement where people used to gather and share things. He played tunes that had been special to her and to them. Tunes that when she closed her eyes brought moments back. Brought back incidents and thoughts, pictures, tears and touches; times of sadness and passion. She remembered that night he had deceived his mother and they had shared the place alone together when she had been sixteen. And then he played things that took her to their wedding, and after that to Shimokita up in Aomori where she heard again the wind and rain moving across the hills and smelled the earth in the wet forest behind that funny little hotel. After he finished, what came next was just incidental; the meal; the wine; the laughter, and even later, in their bed; what happened there. For her that evening was a joining of their situation here to what had come before, to all the things that had brought them to _now. _At the end as they lay in darkness and sleep was approaching he'd quietly said,

"I'm glad grandpa didn't have many good books."

She lay on her side, his right arm was around her, her head rested on his shoulder, he lay on his back. She looked at his profile.

"When I went to the library I couldn't find the section I wanted. I had to wander about the whole place. The section on music was nowhere near the children's fiction shelves. You know, I have no idea why I was there, I was miles out of my way. The arts and crafts section is upstairs."  
"Hm. I know."  
"So there I was, in completely the wrong part of the library. I was about to turn around and go back to the main desk and ask for help when I thought I'd look down just one more aisle. So I did."  
"The childrens section. Fairy tales."  
"Hm. Magic happens in fairy tales. And I looked in between those rows of shelves. And there she was. I looked at her and at first was going to ask for help. But something kept me from speaking. I don't know what. She didn't see me. She just took a few books from the shelf and went the other way, towards the reading tables. So I went up to the place she'd been and looked at the sort of books there, to find out what she liked to read. I think she had washed her hair that morning because there was a faint smell of her shampoo. Just a hint of her lingering in the air. I caught sight of her walking to a seat, her back to me. She was pretty even from a distance, even her back and the back of her head. The way she walked, smoothly and gently like some mystical pure creature from one of the story books she was holding."

He had never ever said this to her. She realized what a romantic he was, what a gentle heart he had. It warmed her deep inside to hear him speak like this. She moved her hand across his skin, across his chest and felt the muscles there.

"I didn't take out any violin books that day. As far as learning about violins went, that day was a complete waste."

He turned his face to her.

"I'm glad I didn't turn round and go ask for help though. The decision of a moment."  
"No matter. Even if you had, there would have been other days."  
"Shizuku."  
"Mm?"  
"I haven't wished you a happy birthday have I?"  
"Yes you have, you've been doing that all evening."  
"Did I? Does that count?"  
"Of course. Thank you. It was a lovely evening."  
"I want to wish you happy birthday again."

And he turned towards her once more, reached out his hand and laid it on her softness.

-oOo-

Adamo had phoned. He was in his last year at university now. At the end of the year he said there was a lot of fun stuff going on in Firenze, it would be the millennium celebrations, parties in the streets, lots of great nightclubs open, the main piazzas would become huge open air bars. He had his own student apartment now and invited them to come down for a couple of days. Seiji agreed at once, he had a special reason to go back there.

They planned to stay for two days but ended up going down on Christmas Eve and staying over a week. This was their first break from the routine that they had grown into, his first break from the workbench at the school. And it was their first Italian Christmas. Adamo and a few of his friends took them to the _Duomo _for a Christmas Eve midnight mass. They marveled at it's beautiful octagonal dome. Finished in 1436, Adamo had said. It was the first Christian church service they had ever attended and Shizuku was struck by the amazing decorations in the cathedral, particularly the hundreds of candles. Much of the ceremony and ritual was alien and went way over her head but she did pick up on a sense of community in that place, it was a vast space and there might have been over a thousand people there, but as she tried singing along with the hymns and the carols she felt like they were all one person, something she hadn't picked up before in any Shinto celebration. She felt like she could be a part of that and the thought bounced around in her head for days afterwards. But from the sublime to the ridiculous – their Italian hosts took them next across town to a club and there they danced and drank until they were exhausted. Adamo's apartment was a little bigger than Dio's old one had been and it had two bedrooms so there was no need to sleep on the floor this time.

On Christmas morning Seiji and Shizuku both discovered that the other had bought a secret present. They had agreed not to bother because of the cost but he had bought her a hat, a pretty white one with a wide floppy brim. Perfect for wearing in the hot sun to shade her. And, of course, it had a purple ribbon. She had bought him a shirt. A big baggy loose one of raw linen, collarless. She'd hoped it would fit his new arty style. It was funny. Both of them were cross and yet both were pleased at the same time. Seiji had also bought her a box of chocolates. Only a small box but Belgian ones, very good ones. Shizuku took his hand and led him back to bed, and there under the warm blankets they giggled and ate the lot, feeding them to each other. He would hold one in his teeth and she'd put her mouth to his and part way through the kiss would bite off her half.

Adamo took them out for a Christmas lunch and they met up with his friends. Dio was there, and the other guy – Marco (_now_ Seiji remembered his name!) and a third man but all the girls with them were strangers; Fully and the others were gone, moved on to pastures new. Seiji gave a mental shrug, they lived their lives their way but it wouldn't be his choice. They went to a place called the English Club. Run by some British guys it was supposed to be like an English pub but Seiji and Shizuku had no idea if it really was. It was big and had lots of fake dark wood paneling and fireplaces and big plants standing in pots in corners. But the reason why Adamo and his friends liked it here was because the owners liked students and they aimed their prices at student levels. So it was ridiculously cheap and consequently always busy. Dio was friendly with one of the guys who ran the place and he'd booked a table so the nine of them sat down to a great meal which was supposed to be an English roast dinner but the Japanese couple had no idea if it was or not. It still felt strange to eat with knives and forks, to cut and spear your food but whatever the meal was it was very good, a roast chicken with roasted potatoes and far more vegetables than they could eat. They had European Christmas crackers that popped with a bang when you pulled them and inside were treats and silly hats which they all wore. In the corner of the pub was a band of young kids – not great but they weren't bad either and it was a good day out.

Over the days between Christmas and New Year they would go walking, often with Adamo, and he would show them the hills over the river to the south outside the town and the villages there. They were coming back one afternoon, warm from a vigorous walk,

"No lady at the moment then, Adamo?"  
"No, Seiji. I split up with my last girl in November. She was too serious for me. Very clingy. She mentioned marriage once so I was out of there." He beamed.  
"It's not like you to not want to commit to someone."  
"That was a joke, I assume."  
"Is my Italian getting better?"  
"Yeah, if you can begin joking in another language you are pretty much there."  
"And your answer to my question is?"  
"No Seiji, I don't want to commit. I'm having too much fun."  
"Have you ever thought how much more fun it would be to be with someone and have that feeling, that sure feeling that no matter what happened, they would always be there?"

He gave Seiji a big grin,

"Nope. Not once. One day perhaps, but not yet."  
"Someday she'll turn up," said Shizuku, "one day you'll be doing something, something quite ordinary and dull and you'll see her. And your heart will race and you'll realize your life up until that moment has been a total waste."

Seiji glanced at her,

"You don't go to libraries do you Adamo?"

The Italian gave him a funny look, but Seiji caught Shizuku's smile,

"What? Libraries? No way. Boring old school teachers hang out in those places. Besides, I have the internet."  
"But you never know who you are meeting on the net. At least in libraries you can see people. And see what sort of books they are reading, get an idea of what's in their heads."  
"I don't need to see inside their heads. Just their knickers."

Seiji laughed.

"Libraries. Is this a Japanese joke, Seiji?"  
"Yes, I suppose so. But you know, one day, cupid will shoot his arrow through your heart and you'll find love."  
"I've loved loads of girls. I've loved them all."  
"No you haven't. Jumping into bed with someone for a season isn't love."  
"How would you know? You've only ever known one person."  
"And that's my point. Hey, Adamo when you get married I'll mention this at your wedding and then you'll know what I'm going on about."  
"But never mind, Adamo," Shizuku added, "you never meet anyone interesting in libraries. Isn't that right, Seiji?"  
"Yes. Hardly ever in fact."

He felt Shizuku's small warm hand slip into his and give him one of her special squeezes. Adamo gave him a funny look, like he was the world's most tragic loser not to have loved hundreds of women,

"Seiji, my man. When you get bored and restless, come to me. I'll show you around. I'll show you what love is."  
"And have you sneak behind my back and grab Shizuku while I'm away? No sir. No thanks."  
"Well, if you do ever get bored, just let me know. Same goes for you Shizuku."  
"What, you'll run off with Seiji?"

Adamo rolled his eyes,

"Do I look like I might?"  
"You are such a desperate guy, nothing you'd do would surprise me."  
"I am _not_ desperate, I'm just enjoying the variety of life."  
"That's what I meant!"  
"Ha, your Italian is good now too."  
"Thanks."  
"That was a joke wasn't it?"

She merely smiled at him, and said nothing.

-oOo-

At New Year's eve they went out into the town in the afternoon and joined in the all-day party, with Adamo's friends they toured the bars and clubs and drank far too much. By the time it was close to midnight Shizuku and Seiji had no idea where they were except that they were near the river somewhere in a big old warehouse that was now a restaurant and club. They danced like mad things until almost twelve when there was a mad rush for the doors because the fireworks were due to start. They stood in a group on the old quayside and watched the fireworks which were set off from barges in the river near the _Ponte del Vecchio._ As they waited, Seiji stood behind her and put his arms around Shizuku's middle and held her. The clocks struck twelve, a cannon fired from one of the old fortifications and the fireworks started. A great cheer went through the crowd, everybody danced, kissed and hugged. And Seiji kissed Shizuku and she hugged him.

"Happy new year."  
"The same to you. Let's make it a great one, hm?"  
"Yes."  
"Seiji?"  
"What?"  
"I do love you so. Thank you for coming to the library. I don't know what my life would have been like if you hadn't."  
"I love you too, Shizuku. I'm going to try really hard the next few years to be the best friend you've ever had."  
"You already are."  
"It can be better. It should be better. Be with me while we make it better."  
"I'd like that."

She kissed him again. A long kiss. The kind that she normally only gave him in their bedroom.

Later they went back to the restaurant club. Seiji found Marco.

"Where's Adamo?"

Marco pointed,

"Do not disturb!" he shouted.

Seiji looked. Adamo was sat at a table in a corner alcove. He was with a girl who was dressed in black.

"Shizuku! Look!"

She saw them. And for some reason she suddenly found herself praying,

"Please, God, let this be the person for him. Let him be the person for her. He needs what we have found. Please let him find it."

And then the thought was gone.

"Seiji, come on, let's dance!"  
"Oh, my god, I'm shattered!"  
"Come _on_, there's hours of the night left yet!"

-oOo-

Seiji's watch told him it was gone four o'clock. It hardly seemed worth going to bed, they may as well stay up, it would be dawn in a couple of hours. The restaurant club had closed at three and they had drifted on to yet another bar, one in a street where all night licenses had been allowed. They had been burning so much energy the drunkenness had worn off and now they were hungry again. Seiji knew that towards the bridge there were some food stalls he'd seen yesterday (was it yesterday? Yes, technically it was) that were advertising all night food, so they went that way, walking slowly and dreamily and not very straight because after fourteen hours Shizuku's high heels were killing her. Adamo had given Seiji a spare key to the apartment so they could come back when they wanted. They reached the bridge but the food stalls had all gone. Probably sold out, Shizuku had suggested. And then Seiji realized where they were and that this was the time. His arm round her waist, he led her onto the _Ponte del Vecchio_. Even at this time of night, on this night of this year people were still about, couples mostly, sitting, wandering drunkenly, a few curled up in corners doing rude things. They stopped by the cage.

"I was wondering when this would happen," she smiled at him.  
"When we walked here after Christmas I looked for it."  
"So did I."  
"Did you see it?"  
"Oh, yes. The left corner, near the bottom. It's there."

And it was. When she had locked the red padlock on over three years ago it had been near the top of the bar, lots of padlocks were below it. Now it was very close to the bottom, only four or five up and many others lay on top of it. He looked at it.

"I wonder what happened to all the padlocks that were under it?" he asked  
"I hope the lovers are all married now, and have babies."  
"Babies?"  
"Hm," she grinned at him.  
"That's worrying."  
"What? Babies?"  
"Yeah! First time you've ever mentioned the B-word."  
"Didn't know there was a law against it."  
"Well, no, there isn't, but…"  
"But you don't want to talk about it."  
"Do you want babies?"

She looked at him, in a careful and level way.

"Eventually, yes."  
"But not yet?"  
"Hm, no. I don't think so. I think we need to be better off financially first. It's very expensive."  
"That's a very practical answer. Given it some thought have we?"  
"Yes, didn't know there was a law against that either."  
"There isn't. I'm just surprised. I've not thought about it at all."  
"I know, I can tell."  
"Oh, yeah. How?"  
"You're a guy."

She said this so plainly and so matter-of-factly, much like she might suggest that he'd not think about sanitary towels.

"And I'm a girl. We girls think about babies. It's in our nature. It's what we are made to do after all, when you break it all down to the basic level. I exist to carry on the human race by giving birth. So, yes, I think about it."  
"Ooh, that was scary."  
"Why?"  
"It's just a heavy subject, one I need to be serious for and I'm not in a serious mood."  
"Oh, so _this_ doesn't need a serious mood?" she indicated the red padlock with her eyes.  
"You know that's not what I meant. For this I am in _exactly_ the right mood. I'd just like to have the family planning discussion another time."

She smiled,

"That's fine. So, then. Padlocks."  
"Hm. Padlocks."  
"You have a key I think."  
"I do."  
"And another around your neck."  
"I thought you wanted to be serious."  
"And I have a padlock."  
"And another on the cage."  
"This isn't really a serious conversation at all is it?"  
"I can make it serious if you want me to."  
"Go on then. Although I should warn you that the origin of this ritual is to ensure fertility."  
"I know. And I'm sure our marriage will be. But not yet."  
"Alright. Not yet."

Seiji stepped close to her. Looking past her, over her shoulder he was aware they had an audience. There was an elderly couple there, well dressed. The man wore an old fashioned suit in 1940s style with a fedora hat, the lady a long coat, the collar fur lined. He thought it odd for such a couple to be out walking at half past four on New Years day. Even odder for them to be waiting here watching the cage of locks. Around him were other people and he guessed they might have quite a small crowd of onlookers but he noticed the elderly couple most.

"The chain around my neck. Can you reach it?"  
"Mm, let me see."

She raised her hands. His jacket was done up to the collar against the cold night and she unbuttoned the top two buttons. Very slowly. She didn't take her eyes from his. She couldn't see the chain, it was inside his shirt so she reached in and unbuttoned that as well. One button, then a second. His throat was bare. She let her fingers move inside, she touched him gently and slid her hands around.

"Mmm," he let out a small moan, "your hands are cold."  
"Your neck is lovely and warm. Wait a moment."

She put her hands behind his neck, under his long hair and stroked the skin there.

"Ah, no, don't do that."  
"Why? Don't you like it?"  
"No. The opposite."  
"No reason not to then."  
"Please stop, or I won't be accountable for my actions."  
"I'm just warming my hands is all, honestly there's no pleasing some people."

She found the chain and slid it around through her fingers until she reached the catch. She had trouble with this as it was twisted so she stood on tip toe and put her face close. He took this opportunity to kiss her neck, high up, just under her ear.

"Don't do that or I'll never get it off."

The chain came undone. She carefully drew it out making sure the key did not slide off.

"When I undo your padlock, what do I do with it?"  
"You know, I'm really not sure."  
"Do I keep it or give it back? Should it stay open or closed?"  
"Open I think. And I suppose you keep it and I get your key."  
"Mmm, lucky you."  
"Be serious."

She stood on her toes again and kissed him.

"Here."

He took the chain and slowly slid the key off. He held it in his hand, flipped it over. Just an ordinary little brass key you could buy in any hardware shop. As it lay in the palm of his hand she bent her head down and kissed it, kissed his hand.

"Go on, open me."

He knelt by the cage. She squatted down next to him.

"What if it's rusty and won't open?"

She grinned at him,

"Just stop worrying."

He reached for the padlock. It was ice cold. He tried to lift it, to slide it up to get a better angle on it but the many locks above it trapped it down. He twisted it and slipped the key in. He was surprised to find the key went in smoothly and even more surprising, as it slid in, a bead of oily yellow fluid was forced out and ran down the outside of the lock. What was this? He was reminded immediately of her and how, when she was ready and moaning, she would leak when he touched her special place. Bizarre. He turned the key and the lock mechanism smoothly clicked and the locking loop of the padlock sprung out and open. He wiggled the padlock away from the others and stood up. She rose with him.

"Look. What's this?"  
"It's oil. Adamo put oil on it."  
"What? When?"  
"A day or two ago. I asked him to."  
"You little…"  
"What?"  
"Well, you fixed it to happen like this."  
"Of course. Nothing wrong in that. Wouldn't it have been horrible if it was all rusted up and wouldn't come open?"  
"You have a point."  
"And you're not going to tell me that sometimes in the past you've not arranged things to work out a certain way."

He smiled and admitted she was right. She took the padlock from his hand.

"Now, we exchange. Give me your key."

They passed one symbol from one hand to the other, then the second one back.

"Now what?" he asked  
"This, I think." And she offered him her mouth again. They kissed and held each other. Seiji was aware of their audience again. The man spoke.

"Good morning."

They both turned to look at him.

"Hello."  
"Please forgive us for being so rude and intruding."  
"That's alright."  
"We hope you will be very happy together."  
"Thank you. We already are."  
"You are married I see."  
"Yes, last April."  
"May the Lord bless your marriage also."

Shizuku spoke,

"Thank you very much. But excuse me."  
"Yes?"  
"Can I ask? What are you doing here? At this time of day? It's very late."  
"No, it's very early. My name is Enrique and this is my wife Constanta. We have been married twenty eight years. We like to come here and watch the young people, watch them make their promises. And of course last night there were lots, and today there will be more. We came here when we were young and left a padlock. And then on our wedding night we came back to unlock it."  
"Oh, that's lovely. You did it properly then?"  
"Yes, I suppose you could say that. And it works as well."  
"I'm sorry?"  
"We have four lovely children, so we know the fertility ritual works."  
"Oh, yes, oh that's wonderful."  
"We have lived here all our lives and we like to come to the bridge and watch the young people. It is so romantic. And often we pray that they will return and marry. Or at least find happiness. I think we are just sentimental old fools."  
"Not at all. I don't think that. I think that is lovely. I'm sure your prayers are heard."

Then Enrique said something that went into her heart and burned there.

"Oh, prayers are always heard. He hears them all. Sometimes though, His answer isn't a 'yes'. But they _are_ all answered and how things turn out depend not on what we want but on His plan. You know, you can always trust in His plan. We don't understand it, but He loves us and the plan is what is best for us, even though it may hurt."  
"Thank you. I think I understand that."  
"It's alright if you don't, young lady. I am sixty five now and I don't understand it yet. I doubt I ever will."

Seiji spoke,

"I'm sorry but it is very late. We ought to be getting home."  
"Of course. We wish you every happiness. Peace be with you."

Seiji led her away.

"What was that all about?"  
"You know Seiji, I've had some odd experiences in my life. Apart from the visions, I have had more than one encounter with a spirit, a being. I have an idea who it is but I just don't know. I think that was Him again, or He was speaking through that man."  
"Really? Hm, I don't know. He seemed pretty straight to me. A bit odd, but harmless."  
"Well if spirits want to talk to you, scaring you wouldn't be a sensible move would it? They'd appear ordinary and get their message across in an ordinary way."

As they walked back he considered this, but he hadn't had the powerful encounters that she'd had and he laid these thoughts aside. He would come back to them but not for a long time.

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24 - 25 January 2007

For author notes about chapter 36 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	38. Ch 37 The Click of Her Key

**Chapter Thirty Seven - The Click of Her Key **

The winter passed and spring and summer came. Seiji went through a season of not staying late at the workshop. He'd get home before her most days and sit and worry about their finances, staring at the columns of figures on the laptop. No matter what he did with them they didn't add up. At their present rate they'd be in serious trouble long before the rental income from the Earth Shop started to come in.

One afternoon, one like many others, he sat thinking about the few options they had. There came a noise. The click of her key in the lock. The squeak of the hinges. The clunk of the closing door. The sounds of footsteps in the entryway. The clatter of her sandals as she takes them off. The rustle of bags. Her presence in this place. He smiled to himself They might be heading for financial ruin but at least he could face the worst that the world could throw at him as long as he still had these things.

"I'm back."  
"Hi. Good day?"  
"Yeah, but, I'm shattered."  
"Coffee?"  
"Mmm, thanks."

She came through the small kitchen and leaned on the breakfast bar. Seiji looked up from the table, from the rectangular world of the laptop screen. She smiled. Always that smile. He could happily drown in it. The world could end tomorrow as long as he only had that smile. Even shining from an end-of-the-day face, those eyes, those lips always refreshed him.

"I love this time of day," he said.  
"It's good to be home."  
"I change gear now."  
"Hm?"  
"You come home. I stop work. Things slow to our pace. Your pace."  
"You're so sweet."

She smiled again. The strong August sun was a candle in comparison. Seiji let the energy of that smile lift him up.

He got up and began the latte ritual. Beans into the grinder, milk from the fridge, check the water level in the espresso maker.

"Ugh, I stink. Quick shower."  
"Sure."  
"That's the one problem with Italy, the summers are so hot. I'll never get used to it."

The girl left her complaint hanging in the air over her shoulder and walked to the bedroom, arms bent up behind her, unzipping her dress as she went.

The milk steamed, he made coffee, got himself one. He stood at the dining area window and watched Cremona doing its early evening thing. Cars honked, trains rattled, people did what people needed to do on the way home. There was just enough to see from the apartment window to call it a view. TV aerials, satellite dishes and chimneys may not be everyone's choice but at least the red spire of the _Duomo's torrazzo_ and some greenery outside the distant _Centro Agricolo_ gave it that little lift that the human soul needed. They had bought a futon and squeezed it into the small lounge for when visitors stayed over. It struck him that that was another unnecessary expense. The lounge doubled as a music room and as her writing den the rest of the time, although when Seiji needed to really play he climbed the fire escape to the flat roof and up there among the pigeons and the washing lines he would sometimes plays for hours, in the dark.

The shower stopped. He couldn't hear her but he imagined her damp bare feet on the tiles leaving small wet marks. He smiled to himself: she never dried herself properly. He'd need to regrout the bedroom tiles soon. He imagined being that floor, the special pleasure of her wet feet touching him, of protecting her bare skin from the old wooden boards beneath.

Even in the silence of her movements he could feel her closer.

"Any mail?"  
"Nothing much. Junk mostly. Coffee's on the side."  
"Thanks."  
"Oh, there was a card. From mom and dad. By the rice maker."  
"How are they getting on?"

Seiji turned from the window. She wore only a towel, wrapped carefully round under her armpits the way women do. A hand towel made a turban for her wet hair. He watched her move. As she raised her coffee mug to her lips a glint of light reflected from the wedding band on her finger. How was it possible to love a girl more every day? Each time she came home, every meal, each shopping trip, every phone call spent leaning by the door (he'd sometimes stand and just look at the line of her hip), waking each morning - the curve of her back seeming different each time. Was it possible to go on loving someone like this, the need rising exponentially until one day you thought you'd burst? What caused it? Life here was hardly idyllic. Work at his apprenticeship was a constant heartache, a constant worry that at the end of ten years he might not be good enough. The pay was laughable. If they hadn't married, if she hadn't chosen to come with him, he'd no idea how he would have coped. He'd probably be sleeping in the park each night.

"Seiji? Hello? Cremona calling planet Seiji?"  
"Sorry. I was miles away."  
"I know. Did your mom say anything more on the phone?" she turned the postcard over, glanced again at the picture of a Buddhist temple.  
"Yeah, Kouji is cool about the visit. I think he and dad will sort it all out."  
"That's great. I'm so glad. That was a worry for everyone wasn't it?"  
"Yeah. Dad's changed a lot since he retired. I'm much more comfortable with him now. He's mellowed out. I think sorting the past out with my brother was just a matter of time. I only hope he doesn't carry on trying to convince him to come home, to go to university."  
"Kouji is his own man now, your dad will see that."  
"Hmm."  
"I'm pleased. How long will your parents be in Thailand?"  
"They plan to be with Kouji in Bangkok for two weeks, then its two more weeks in Phuket just chilling I guess."  
"They deserve it."  
"Yeah, they do."  
"Lovely coffee, just hits the spot."  
"No problem."  
"Becoming quite the native Italian aren't you?"  
"And how's the job?"  
"Things are finally changing. I asked to be moved. They are sending me to the main tourist information office near the _Duomo_, where they get most enquiries. My Italian is good now and with all the Japanese, Chinese and Korean visitors I can be most useful there."  
"That's great, sounds like you're settling in."  
"They're not paying me any more though. So I'm still looking. I'm still enjoying it. I pick up so much, little stories from people, snippets here and there, it's like seeing people's lives in sentences. It's all being stored away in the notebook for future use."

She smiled, that beguiling mischievous animal that came out to play at the corners of her mouth, at her eyes, and that melted his heart every time. He needed to talk to her again about the money but not now. He couldn't face that. Now he just needed her company.

"Did you call Adamo back?" he asked,

She turned and leaned back against the kitchen work surface. Seiji glanced down to where her towelled bottom pressed against the cupboard, he studied the way it changed shape. She cupped her latte in both hands, holding the mug against her chest.

"Oh, yeah, you'll never guess."  
"Mmm?"  
"That girl he met up with at the millennium party?"  
"Not that outrageous goth kid?"  
"Lisabet, yes. Well they got engaged."  
"No!"  
"Yes!"  
"She's never his type!"  
"No really, he says she's lovely. She's studying at the arts academy, she's a brilliant photographer he says. Apparently he met up with her again in January, at some café somewhere and he didn't even recognize her. The whole Goth thing is just for clubbing, she's a different person by day. Well, apart from the black hair and body piercings…"  
"I can't believe it."  
"I swear, it's true. Well, you know Adamo, he can never resist a girl like that, a mysterious one who changes from day to night."  
"Adamo, can never resist _any_ girl. He thinks with his groin that boy! He had his eye on you once, do you remember?"  
"Yes, I remember. When I used to sit and study at the Café Volpi, he'd be round me like a bee at honey. They way he kept touching my arm, my shoulder, asking if I needed anything every five minutes. I thought he was creepy at first."  
"But eventually…"  
"But eventually I found out that all Italian men are like that. It's just normal here."

She giggled, one hand coming up from her coffee mug to cover her mouth. Seiji let the raindrops of her laughter patter over him.

"Well, it's a story of true love, they spent most of the spring together and now…"  
"Wedding bells."  
"Well, not yet maybe. But it's great, don't you think?"  
"Adamo needs a girl like that, someone to help him settle down. He can't go chasing every girl in Firenze his whole life. What is he now? Twenty-three? He still acts like he's sixteen."  
"I'm amazed he changed his mind, he's been committed to not committing himself for so long."  
"She must have had a real effect on him."  
"So they want us to come round for the celebration. End of this month. It's a grand affair apparently, his father Umberto is organizing a big do at the Hotel Imperio."  
"The Imperio? Whew!" Seiji whistles.  
"So, do we book a room?"  
"Mmmm… we'll need to do our sums on that one."

_and then say no_, he thought

"Oh, well," she joked, "we could always put up a tent in the gardens."  
"That brings the memories back, do you remember?"  
"The camp by the Oogurigawa River? When Sugimura burned the onions?"  
"How could I forget? The night of our first kiss."  
"Oh my God, yes! That was so funny. The girls were so embarrassing, trying to get us together all night. I think even grandpa got a bit annoyed by it."  
"But then I surprised everyone…" His voice trailed off.

She looked down at her coffee cup, then up at him again.

"And me as well. One minute they were all messing about, pushing us together and the next you put your arms round me and kissed me. I was so shocked. I just hung there limp like a complete idiot. What a wasted opportunity!"

She smiled at the memory.

"It was a surprise then?" he grinned.  
"For everyone! They all went quiet and just stood there watching!"  
"But what a kiss, eh? You know, I think that was the night I really grew up."  
"It was so embarrassing!"  
"You didn't like it?"  
"No you jerk! I loved it! You know I did! But maybe you could have picked a time when five other people weren't watching! The next week at school everyone was talking about it! I went through hell, I blushed for days."  
"And Yuko's huge tent of her fathers she brought, it had about four rooms. That was great."  
"Oh, that was so much fun," she laughed, "Grandpa slept with you and Sugimura in one room while we girls had another all to ourselves. It was great. We brought loads of sweets and snacks and we told stories and stuffed our faces all night long. Poor old Michiko, she was so unwell the next day."  
"Serves her right, the junk you lot ate. I remember the next morning, your breath smelled of liquorice and onions."  
"Oh! That's horrible! Don't remind me."  
"You know, it's nice. Whenever I smell liquorice now it reminds me of our first kiss."  
"You're so sweet, you're making my toes curl. But what about the onions?"  
"Memory is great, it retains the good things and edits out the bad."  
"Heh, you are _not_ going to believe this but I was hungry on the way back from work. I bought a bag of liquorice drops."

He came round the end of the breakfast bar, his face disbelieving.

"You never."  
"Hm." She nodded, her grin widening.  
"Prove it."

He came close. She parted her lips. He lowered his face to hers, close. Closer. The beautiful flower of her mouth opened before him. Her breath carried that sharp sweet dark mysterious smell.

"Oh yeah… so you did. I wonder if the taste lingers as well…?"  
"Why don't you find out?"

Her voice was throaty, a little deeper in tone.

"Only one way to tell, you know."

Seiji opened his mouth a little, tilted his head and touched his lips to hers, pressing, tasting, exploring.

"Mmm…"

She let out a small murmur of pleasure. Seiji placed his coffee mug on the work surface and his hands reached up for the knot on her towel.

Outside the Cremona evening drew down toward dusk, the traffic increased, the lights in the buildings came on but the small _appartamento_ on the _Via Versecchi_ where Seiji and Shizuku lived remained dark.

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9 November 2006  
(tweaked the original single chapter stand-alone story to fit into "Other Side" 25 January 2007, 08:35 – 08:40 and 10:20 – 10:45)

For author notes about chapter 37 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	39. Ch38 A Broken Heart is a Poisonous Thing

**Chapter Thirty Eight – A Broken Heart is a Poisonous Thing  
**

They talked about the money. A lot. They turned the problem over and over, looking at it from various directions but the bottom line was they simply had to spend less. Seiji had thought of borrowing from the bank but given their ages, their salaries and how long they'd been in Italy he was pretty sure the amount they could borrow would be so small as to be useless. They continued to slowly but steadily eat into their savings.

Shizuku began to feel bad about it all, after all she was the one who had the option of changing jobs, of bringing home a bigger pay packet. But try as she might, she couldn't find anything.

Things got worse.

In November a package arrived addressed to her. She'd already received some early birthday gifts and expecting this to be another she opened it. A fat bundle of photocopied hand written pages was inside, and a covering letter, again hand written. It clearly wasn't another rejected manuscript then.

She looked at the letter. And immediately wished she hadn't. It was from Tansho Seto, Kinu's mother. As her eyes ran down the badly scrawled Kanji, Shizuku stepped back and sat heavily down in a chair at the dining table.

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_Dear Shizuku _

Well I followed your suggestion and went into Kinu's room. I wish I hadn't. But a part of me is glad I did. I have my answers now. I know why it happened. What makes me sad and angry is you knew. You knew what must have been in there and you hid it from me. Not only did you hide it but you actually had the nerve to lie to me, knowing it was there, you pretended not to know. I don't know why, perhaps your purpose was to hurt me. In the same way you hurt her.

_I think about what happened that week you went camping and I loathe you for it. I'll never forgive you for what you did to her. _

I hope you are happy now.

Yours  
Seto Tansho

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Confused more than hurt she looked at the photocopied pages. They were from a diary. Kinu's diary. The first entries were innocent enough. Mixed in with comments about schoolwork and hair appointments Kinu mentioned a friend. She said she was fond of someone, that she'd seen someone and admired them from a distance. She didn't expect much from it, as the person she admired already had a special friend. The entries continued. Shizuku saw that they were dated back in 1995, in the spring. Soon after she had begun to know Seiji. And then in the summer of 1995 she saw her own name. An otherwise blank page had her name written on it several times, the single Kanji character she knew so well. All around the name were drawn hearts and other romantic doodles and two scribble people kissing. With a growing dread Shizuku turned more pages. She got to the point where she could hardly bear to read, to turn the pages. But she had to, some twisted compulsion forced her on. It was like a nightmare from which you can't wake up. Kinu began to write about meeting her, in parks, at the shops, and going to movies, going walking. Shizuku knew it was all made up, all inside Kinu's head but the diary had become a journal now. All the other entries about her homework or incidental little things about her family and what else she did had all stopped. By the beginning of 1996 the diary had changed completely into a work of fiction. A story taking place entirely in Kinu's mind. And as the weeks and months went on the fondness Kinu showed toward Shizuku turned to obsession. The made up relationship became more than a girly friendship but a love affair. There were long passages in which Kinu described what kissing Shizuku was like, how she tasted, how her hair smelled, how soft she was to touch. Passages describing what underwear Kinu thought she was wearing. It got worse. Much worse. And then, in summer 1996, while Shizuku had been away for that week in Cremona, Kinu wrote that she had gone away with Shizuku camping. What had gone on here? Had Kinu actually left her home for a week and gone away? She must have, if she hadn't her mother would have known. And during that weeks fantasy camping trip she and Kinu had made love. Again and again in various ways. The descriptions went on and on and became more and more lurid and detailed. More disgusting. The journal had descended into pornography. Shizuku turned the page and there was a picture. A pencil drawing of Kinu doing things to her.

Shizuku shut the page and put her hand over her mouth. She felt physically sick, her stomach turned. Oh, God, Kinu had become ill, mentally unwell, her love for Shizuku had turned into something dark and nasty and corrupt.

She got up and managed to reach the toilet just in time, her gut turned over and the foul taste of her own bile was in her mouth. She vomited, the painful retching and cramping went on until nothing was left to come out.

She went into the bedroom and flung herself on the bed. And then she burst into tears.

She had loved Kinu, she had been such a good friend, they had had such happy times together. Not alone as lovers but with their other friends. Things had been fine. And then one day, for some reason, something broke in Kinu's head and sent her off course down a twisted path to destruction. And what made Shizuku so sad, and so angry was that in doing so she had dragged her mother and father down to despair with her. When she jumped off the bridge she _knew_ she had left those diaries behind in her room. She _knew_ her parents would find them. And it was a fifty-fifty chance that they'd believe them or throw them out. And fate had decreed that they believe them. So Kinu's selfish act had corrupted both her parents and now her hurting, unhappy, angry mother was spreading the poison to injure Shizuku as well.

She had once loved Kinu. But on that November evening she felt only sorrow, pity and, she was upset to admit this in herself, anger also.

-oOo-

She lay in bed beside him. They were on their sides, him behind her, his arm around her, gently holding her where he liked to, where he could feel her heart beating. His deep gentle breathing told of a person at rest. But she couldn't sleep. She'd picked up that foul bundle of papers, returned it to its envelope and put it in her bedside cabinet. Tomorrow she'd feed it to the office shredder. She dwelt over and over on the descriptions and the picture. They wouldn't go away. Kinu's mother had intended her to suffer and suffering she was. Why did people do things like that? Why did it help them to hurt others? Probably it didn't. Probably Mrs. Seto felt no better now than she had when she'd found the diary. So why do it? Out of pain, out of hopelessness perhaps. Out of some broken sense that hurting someone else would take away their own pain, that by having someone else in anguish it was like an anguish shared. Or an anguish given to the person who deserved it.

Clearly that was wrong. Things didn't work like that. Anyone could see that. Except those blinded by emotion: hurt, anger, confusion. They just didn't think straight.

"She did not listen," a voice said.  
"To you?"  
"Yes."  
"Kinu? Or her mother?"  
"Both."  
"Did Kinu have the opportunity to listen?"  
"Everyone does."

A thought came to her.

"She listened to someone else didn't she?"  
"Yes."  
"Someone bad?"  
"Yes."  
"Someone who is your opposite?"  
"Yes, in some ways."  
"Why is it that I listen to you, but Kinu listened to the other person?"  
"Sometimes the answer is hard to understand."  
"I want to understand. Did you fail her?"  
"No. I never fail."  
"But she died, she didn't have to die. And in dying she hurt other people."  
"You are right. She didn't have to die. She could have turned away from him and to me. But even in her death, in the hurt of others, there is purpose."  
"Well I don't see it!" she was angry with this calm implacable voice.  
"I don't expect you to. Not now. You will, one day."  
"Is Kinu with you? Is she happy now?"

No answer came.

She lay there turning these thoughts over and although they did not satisfy her, she eventually slept. Even unhelpful answers were something for her mind to cling to.

-oOo-

She stood at the officer shredder. Taking the envelope and keeping the horrible papers concealed inside it, she took them out a few at a time, face down, and sent them to destruction. It felt good to do this, it was an act of defiance. She wouldn't be corrupted. She realized now that she couldn't hate Kinu, or her mother. For they had done nothing wrong. They had been victims of a higher purpose, a dark purpose whose intention was to destroy and hurt, to entrap and defile, to do acts opposing the voice that Shizuku heard inside her own head. She knew who it was who had spoken to Kinu and bent her once bright happy mind to his will. She hardly dared voice his name. Not out of fearful superstition but because if she did then it would mean admitting his existence and if she did _that_ then she'd have to admit the existence of the voice in her own head. If the evil one existed then by default the good one did too. It was like night and day. If you didn't have one then you couldn't have the other. And as well as admitting that He existed, she would have to give Him a personality. Know He was real. Know He wasn't part of her own mind reasoning with another part, but an outside entity, a spirit. Alright, she finally admitted; a god. Perhaps the God. Was she stupid to even consider such things? Did they exist in the modern world? In centuries past, yes, when men were ignorant and didn't understand things, gods had been a way to explain the world around them. But that applied to Japanese gods and spirits, ones who dwelt inside physical things like trees and rivers and mountains. It didn't apply to the entity she spoke with. This spirit was everywhere. He knew everything. He was with her when she needed Him, He knew what she was thinking. This wasn't a spirit from Shinto or Buddhist beliefs. This was a spirit that she'd felt in a chapel in Tama one day when she'd wondered how it felt to give birth at fifteen and to know that the baby you held in your arms was going to be both the most significant life that ever lived and the most tragic and misunderstood. The most loved and the most hated. The most revered and the most reviled.

Kinu had not been ill, or evil. She had been a good person. There was nothing in her circumstances any different to Shizuku's own. Something had got inside her and corrupted her. For its own purpose. And it – he – was still at work. In Tansho. Shizuku decided it wouldn't get into her, she wouldn't let it in. The first step was to deny him entry. That was easy, she'd done that already. The second step was to contact Tansho and try to drive the corruption out of her.

She had reached the end of the packet, all the foul words and images were gone. She held the last piece of paper. It was the letter Tansho had written. Shizuku turned it over and looked at the words. Words of anguish and confusion. Words of a mother whose only child had taken her own life and she didn't know why, so she had held onto the only thing she'd found. A diary that gave a reason. Tansho couldn't know the reason given in that diary was false.

_I think about what happened that week you went camping and I loathe you for it._

"There it is."

Shizuku looked at the writing. How could Tansho have thought what she'd read in the journal was true? Shizuku had been in Cremona that week in 1996, talking with Luisa and Anna and Adamo. And then she knew. She knew what she had to do to help Tansho, it was right there in front of her. She could fight back, she could save Tansho from the evil that was hurting her.

-oOo-

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Dear Mrs. Seto _

I am not going to comment on the contents of the packet you sent me. I am not going to say anything to try and change your mind about the journal. You think that what your daughter wrote is true. I think that anything I write, any explanation or excuse, any denial I make will be a waste of time because you don't want to believe it.

However I would please ask you to do one thing. The camping trip Kinu wrote about was in August 1996. I know the exact dates. Saturday the 11th to Saturday the 18th. I don't remember those dates because I was with her but because I was in Italy. Staying with my boyfriend visiting friends of ours in Cremona.

Please contact my parents and ask them where I was. Don't take their word for it, show them this letter. I give you permission to go to the top drawer of my desk. In there is a yellow cardboard box and in it you will find ticket stubs for my flights and a hotel receipt. There are also other things. Train tickets between Milan and Cremona. A ticket to a cinema in Cremona on the Sunday, and a ticket for a nightclub called Epuacaus in Firenze. That ticket is dated Wednesday 15th. I might even have kept some bus tickets for some trips between Cremona and a town called Busseto. I don't know if they still have it but I sent my mom and dad a postcard. Ask to see that, it will have an Italian post office stamp on it and a date. If you wish I can give you the telephone numbers of several people, my friends in Cremona and Firenze, and the number of a gentleman in Cremona who makes violins. Call them. Ask them if I was there that week.

Kinu writes that during that week I was with her. One of us is not telling the truth.

I want you to look at the things I have told you about and decide which of us that is.

_I am so sorry for what happened. I am trying to understand what happened to your daughter, and why. She was a girl I was very fond of and always held in the highest regard. _

I am praying for you.

With love  
Amasawa Shizuku

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few days later she phoned her mom and told her that Mrs. Seto might call or come round.

A month went by, then another.

Shizuku spoke to her mother again. No, Mrs. Seto had not been in touch.

After three months Shizuku knew what she had to do. She had fretted over this and although she didn't want to do it, she knew she had to. It wasn't a big sacrifice to make and to give in now would be to give in to him, to let the dark force win, and she refused to do that. She called her mother again and asked her to send to Italy the yellow box from her desk. She asked her if she still had her postcard. Asako didn't know; if they did it would be in one of the kitchen drawers with all the other clutter, but if she found it, she would send it.

That night Shizuku prayed again. This was the first time in her life that she had done anything like this, had intervened to help someone she didn't know. She had a clear picture in her head of a battle in progress. On one side was a dark army with Tansho as their prisoner. On the other side was a bright army, a shining army of angels, and they were encouraging Shizuku on. She could feel them. She also prayed for something silly – that her mom would find the postcard. She found that the simple act of praying helped. It made her calmer and caused her to collect her thoughts more clearly.

-oOo-

The box arrived. Inside it, on the top, was the postcard. When she saw it, she stood there, the lid still in her hands and said _thank you_. And that was the first ever prayer of hers that was answered. If anything, that card was the most important because it had her handwriting on and a date. It proved that she had been in Cremona on the 13th August 1996, it was simply impossible to deny that fact unless you preferred to believe that not only had she lied to Tansho at the funeral, but Shizuku had also lied to her parents, to Seiji's parents and had arranged with someone to send the card from Italy along with a collection of ticket stubs and receipts. Her co-conspirator would also have had to stay in a hotel for a week under an assumed name, or the hotel owner would also have had to be party to the lie. And Shizuku's boyfriend also. No, it simply was unthinkable that a sixteen year old would go to such elaborate lengths to hide the fact that she had gone camping with a girlfriend. Tansho _had_ to see that. She would have to be blind not to.

Shizuku carefully packaged up the postcard, the tickets and the hotel bill. It hurt to do this, they were precious keepsakes of hers, things she wanted to hold on to because they reminded her of that week, of his beautiful face in Uncle Anton's garden. But she knew that losing them was only a small thing, a little sacrifice. They weren't really important, the memories were important, and the changed lives that had come out of that week. Not tickets or postcards. And of course, if they helped Tansho, if they stopped her slide into the influence of the dark man then it was no sacrifice at all. It was a victory.

She wrote a very brief covering letter.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Dear Mrs. Seto _

I am sorry to trouble you again over this unhappy subject.

Here are the documents I mentioned in my letter of last November.

Please look at them and please consider if you still think I am deceiving you.

I do care about you and I want this issue to be closed, for Kinu's sake as well as yours, and Mr. Seto's.

I'm still praying for you.

love  
Amasawa Shizuku

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two weeks went by. Two weeks in which Shizuku prayed for Tansho every single night. Then a letter arrived.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Dear Shizuku _

Thank you for your letter and the things you enclosed with it.

I am trying to decide what this means.

Yours  
Seto Tansho

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Just two lines. But they were enough. Shizuku had prayed and she had her answer. For her it was enough that Tansho was thinking. Mrs. Seto never did write again, and she never got her mementos back. But she didn't mind. Shizuku never told Seiji about any of this, but she kept it in her heart and years later she understood its purpose.

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25 - 26 January 2007

For author notes about chapter 38 see my forum (click on my pen name)


	40. Ch 39 Years

**Chapter Thirty Nine – Years**

Shizuku did eventually find another job, and only just in time. By the winter of 2000 they had dug a huge and embarrassing hole into their savings. Their 1.2 million Yen had plunged to under two hundred thousand and this even with Seiji having sold two violins at poor prices in order to keep them going. But it was one lunchtime while she was reading the paper that Shizuku saw the advertisement. It was for an interpreter post in Pisa. A company that was working with the Government in Rome needed a Japanese speaker, mostly for the Italian Government to liaise with foreign investors and companies wishing to set up Italian factories or subsidiaries, and to be advised on Italian law. She remembered Artur, Herr Hubrich's translator in Berlin, and she thought it might be interesting work, and quite varied. The pay was almost double what the Cremona tourist office paid her, with a salary increase once the training period was complete, and so, with a tiny corner of her hating herself for selling out her principals to the demanding god of money, she applied. _Everyone has their price_, a voice inside her said and Shizuku hated that voice. She thought of Nao, a girl drawn into a lifestyle by the siren song of money and she didn't feel at all proud about her actions. However their needs were now becoming critical so she went for it.

And much to her amazement she got it.

It would mean a daily commute by train to Pisa and unfortunately, some weeks she'd have to go to Rome. And that was over 300 miles away. So impossible to do in a day. She and Seiji would have to spend nights apart. Shizuku was really in two minds about this. They sat and talked about it and she realized that not once had they not slept in the same bed since that strange two months just after their honeymoon when she'd still been at the _danchi_ and he at home. Since they had come to Europe in 1999, since that first night on the sleeper train to Munich they had always slept together. So this was going to be odd. Did he mind? He said he didn't but she knew he did. More importantly she knew _she_ minded. But she knew also that they had to do this. They didn't have the luxury of turning down such a great opportunity to end their money troubles.

Pisa was a lovely city, again it had a very old and pretty centre and of course there was the famous leaning tower but the company Shizuku worked for had an office several miles out of the city centre at a new business park. There was nothing there but other offices although it was sited next to a park with a river running through it and at lunchtime she could walk there to get away from things and have space to think. For all of November and December she had training classes in Italian, technical and business work, and law. While her Italian now was very good, she had to learn a whole new dictionary of expressions relating to business and various legal terms and transactions. In addition to this she had to learn and understand the terms in Japanese and English as well. But she was like a sponge, she soaked it up and loved every minute. Which was good because that compensated for being away from him. A year ago they'd been able to meet for lunch if they had wanted, or meet up after work and go to a musical evening or see a movie but that wasn't possible now and she really missed that flexibility. She missed him. But each evening she would come home on the train and get to the _appartamento _and at night they still had each other.

-oOo-

But then her training course ended and she began working properly. Very soon after that, in early 2001 she had her first trip to Rome. Shizuku wasn't yet experienced enough to be assigned cases of her own and that first time she went as a trainee to observe senior colleagues at work. It was a fairly unimportant meeting concerning an American developer who wanted to construct cell phone masts in an environmentally sensitive location and the only non-Italian spoken was English. But the landowners lawyer spoke only Italian so Shizuku's company had been brought in by the government arbitrator to provide English translation services. She found she really enjoyed it: the cut and thrust of incisive discussion, of sharp minds jousting with each other and the sheer hard work of trying to not only keep up with the discussion but try and stay a second or two ahead in order to translate more smoothly. But that evening she stayed in Rome. She and her three colleagues had dinner and then, a little unsure of this, she declined the invite to go for a drink with them and went back to the hotel for a bath and an early night. She phoned Seiji and they talked for over an hour. It was like being kids again, neither wanted to end the conversation, to be the one to put the phone down. Finally when it was over, and she was alone in bed she found herself holding her body in the way he did, just for the simple comfort of it. And she cried out of sheer loneliness, of being apart from him. Something so childishly simple as a 4-6-4-9 on her old pager right then would have meant so much.

-oOo-

Her extra pay halted the slide into financial catastrophe and most months they even managed to start putting a little back into the savings. However a problem with the Earth Shop ownership transfer came up. One evening Yumiko phoned Seiji. The problem was him being in Italy and not resident in Japan. There was no law against it but it meant Yumiko had to jump through more legal hoops than she'd expected. She'd written to the tax people but they worked painfully slowly and until all the paperwork was in place she could not transfer legal title of the Earth Shop to him. In the meantime the rental income was being put into a holding account. In the short term it meant they were completely reliant on Shizuku's salary.

The late summer of 2001 saw Seiji's first foreign trip. Signore Guarnieri took him to Vienna to an important auction of musical instruments. While they were there he took him to view the museums and also to a private collection. Seiji was impressed, this was something he had not expected. The Signore used these trips to pour into Seiji his love of the history of the subject and to introduce him to the world of violin making, playing and collecting that existed outside of his own (so far) narrow horizons.

The following year they traveled to Paris and again to a prestigious auction. This was mid-2002 and Seiji was present in the room when a 1730s French viola fetched the highest ever bid price for any non-Stradivarius musical instrument. But for him this wasn't quite right. This was very rich people playing with rich men's toys. It wasn't what the heart and soul of the thing was about. It wasn't people creating beautiful things, it was just men spending beautiful amounts of money. Two other important things came out of the Paris trip. Seiji began to get an inkling of who he was, how he was viewed by the wider violin and music community. He was surprised and more than a little shocked to find that people knew of him, people were even watching him. He was the pupil of Adriano Guarnieri, one of Cremona's most renowned craftsmen. That meant that people were waiting and watching to see what this unknown kid could do, to see when his work would stand up above the work of other young men around him and really get people's attention. This scared Seiji but it also filled him with pride and anticipation. It really was up to him now, his future rested entirely on his own shoulders, how good his work turned out to be, how successful he was depended on the next few years and the contacts he made in this community. He came away from the Paris trip with three new numbers in his mobile. People who had approached _him_ for his number rather than the reverse.

The second thing was that this was the longest he and she had ever been apart. The Vienna trip had been three days, Paris was five. Five nights sleeping in a bed that seemed too big, bathing in a bathroom that seemed too empty, eating breakfasts at a table that had the wrong conversation. They spoke every day but this wasn't enough. It was like they were connected by an elastic cable. When they were close it was slack and they never felt its pull. But this far apart for this long the strength of its attachment pulled at them until it hurt.

-oOo-

But then came _that_ morning. It was late in that year and Shizuku was working hard on a case that had involved meetings for three days now. This was the last day of a pharmaceuticals conference in Genoa that was being attended by a delegation from a Japanese company and she had to be at the office early to join the rest of the team. Unlike other days she didn't wake Seiji and he walked drowsily out of bed as she was grabbing a quick coffee. She was dressed and ready to go. He was still naked. He leaned on the door post and watched her. She looked every inch a woman successful in life, in business. Her sharp suit, her beautiful hair, the red lowlights glossy under the lights, her immaculate make up. She would be twenty-three next month. This wasn't a woman Seiji had ever thought he'd see. He stood there, his long unbrushed hair straggling over his eyes, his stubbly unshaven chin, his head full of sleep and fading dreams of her. He watched her grab phone, personal organizer and laptop bag, check herself in the mirror one last time.

"Hey."  
"Mm, yeah?"  
"Mom phoned last night, after you'd gone to bed."

No answer.

"The tax paperwork on the Earth Shop finally got signed off."  
"Good."

She hadn't looked at him, she hadn't sounded like she'd even knew she'd spoken.

"Now we no longer need to worry about the money."

She glanced out the window,

"Is it going to rain? Where's my umbrella?"  
"Aren't you pleased?"  
"About what?"  
"About our marriage."

He wondered if she'd even heard that. It had been a deliberate line to jolt her. She wasn't jolted.

"What are you talking about?"  
"I just thought you'd be pleased, that's all."  
"I am. But I won't be if I miss my train."

Here he was without a stitch on and if she even bothered to look at him when she spoke to him, she looked only at his eyes, not lower. She just _never_ did that.

"Screw the train. Come back to bed."  
"What?"

She looked at him in exasperation. He noticed for the first time that under her makeup there were dark shadows under her eyes.

"A year ago you would have."  
"Would have what?"  
"Stripped off right there and taken me back to bed."  
"Damn, I really must go. I can't afford to miss the train."

She came up to him, gave him a quick peck on the cheek, took her umbrella and let herself out.

"What time will you be back?"  
"I'll call!" came faintly as the door closed behind her.

Seiji stood, leaning against the door post. Five minutes later and he had not moved when his mind finally awoke to the fact that everything was changing. She was suddenly someone else, someone who had come quietly into their apartment recently, in the last few months certainly, and replaced the girl he was married to who had simply faded away. Seiji didn't like this new woman as much. And that made him sad.

Where had the girl who wrote stories gone?

Going backwards had been impossible in recent months – they'd needed her salary. But now there would be a regular monthly income from Japan, plus eighteen months of rent in the holding account. Enough to restore them to financial solvency once and for all. Which meant she could give up the Pisa job and come back to working locally. The new woman could pack her bags and go, and the Shizuku he knew, the girl he'd married, could come back.

-oOo-

But she didn't. She'd finally gone.

They talked about this over the following weeks. Shizuku understood how cosy it would be going back to local work but, she confessed to him, she was enjoying this so much, she was meeting so many interesting people and seeing interesting places.

The day she stood up from the dining table at the end of that conversation and walked away from him, having flatly refused to resign from the interpreter job, was one he thought he'd never see. That evening she bathed and went to bed early. He took number one from her case and went up the fire escape, and on the dark roof he played. He didn't know what he played or for how long but when he came down, and had wiped the tears from his eyes and got into bed, she was deeply asleep. He lay on his back and after a while, not touching her, he turned onto his side facing away from her. He waited for it for an hour or more, and eventually sleep came and quieted his unquiet mind.

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27 and 29 January 2007

For author notes about chapter 39 please see my forum (click on my pen name)


	41. Ch 40 Number 1

**Chapter Forty - #1 **

One cold, clear, bright morning in January 2004 they put on warm coats and went out walking early in town. They wandered past closed cafés and shops, through the market square still strewn with yesterdays trampled vegetables, and across the wide piazza of the _Duomo_, at this time on a Sunday empty except for pigeons.

Seiji led her by slow degrees over the hill in the middle of town to a small piazza on the slope down towards the river Po that they knew well. By nine o'clock the cafés were opening and they stopped at one. It had a red and white striped awning and was close to a fountain where three stone cherubs cavorted around a prancing unicorn. A couple of old men were inside reading the paper with _espressos_ at their elbow. Seiji ordered orange juice, coffee, yogurts, ham and soft rolls. For a while they breakfasted in silence.

"Are you happy?" he asked,  
"Mm," answered Shizuku, "Everything is going great. I've been promised a good bonus in April because of my work this last year. The last couple of jobs I did all on my own, and they went so _well_. It's great that my boss is showing trust and confidence in me now."  
"It's funny, you know, that when I asked you that question, you replied about your job."  
"I assumed that's what you meant. Pass the butter."  
"That's why I thought it strange, because I didn't ask about your work. I just asked if you were happy."  
"Well if this is another one of those conversations, Seiji, then yes, I am happy. Thank you for asking."

Her voice was cold.

"With your job, yes."  
"Oh, here we go again," she sighed, "I'm happy with everything – everything we are doing here. I'm so glad we came to Italy."  
"Are you? Really?"  
"Of course."  
"Do you still love me?"

There was a short silence. She held her glass of juice close to her lips, then lowered it again.

"Why on _earth_ do you ask me that?"  
"Please, just answer the question."

She looked at him in a strange way.

"Well of _course_ I do, silly. What are you talking about?"  
"Who are you?" he asked in a mild and gentle tone.  
"Seiji, you're worrying me, why are you talking like this?"  
"Once, not long ago the girl I married would have spoken about _us _when I asked her if she was happy. But the girl I'm with now doesn't. That makes me sad."

Shizuku was quiet for a few moments.

"I see."  
"Do you?"  
"Are you so unhappy with my career that takes me away from you, that you don't care that I enjoy it and I find it challenging and fulfilling?"  
"What makes me unhappy is that you have changed so much. I went into the bedroom the other day and found the Baron and Baroness in their traveling case in the bottom of the wardrobe. They used to stand on the little table by your chest of drawers but now all your work files are there."

When she looked at him this time there was something hard and defiant in her eyes.

"People grow up Seiji. They change. They mature."  
"Yes, of course. But they don't often turn their backs on things once important to them."  
"I just needed somewhere to keep all those files!"  
"So you packed the dolls away."  
"Why not?"  
"Shizuku, don't you see it? Two years ago you wouldn't have done that, you'd have cluttered up some other piece of floor with your work and kept the dolls out."  
"What do you want me to do? Give up the job? Let us drift back into debt again? Sit at a counter all day and tell Koreans where the nearest public toilets are?"  
"You're over-reacting. All I want back is the girl I saw in the library. The girl I took to a hilltop one morning when it was cold and frosty. Who had a dream about being a writer. That person had spirit and a determination to succeed at something. You're not that person anymore, Shizuku, you're someone else, someone who just wants a fancy job and more money."

Seiji's heart was hurting. This was hard but it had to be said.

"I grew up, Seiji. That girl in the library grew up. She found out that writing isn't a realistic career."  
"Of course it is – lots of people are successful as writers."

He was afraid. His voice had a tone of pleading in it.

"Well while you had your nose in my part of the wardrobe you should have looked around a little more. On the shelf is a blue folder. Next time you're bored and want to look at my things, take a look in it. I think there must be a hundred letters in there offering about six or eight different manuscripts to twenty or thirty different publishers in Japan. And for each and every letter there is a rejection slip as well. Well, for nearly all of them. Some of them didn't even bother to reply. So I'm through with being a writer. No-one wants my books. No-one likes them. Do you hear me?"

Her cheeks were pink, her eyes wide. She stared at him, daring him to argue.

"I just want us to spend more time together."

Damn. He sounded so whiney. He suddenly hated himself.

"It was the two of us that agreed I take the stupid job in Pisa! We talked about it for ages! Or did you forget that when you were looking through my things?"  
"Shizuku, I was _not_ looking through your things. Don't accuse me of that. I noticed the dolls had been moved so I looked for them."  
"The point remains, Seiji, that I'm not greedy for money or a fancy career, but I'm doing the job I'm doing because you wanted me to."  
"That is not fair and you know it. It's because we _had_ to. We were totally broke. We had to get more money into the equation. I never wanted you to work away like this, especially these long trips to Rome. It was something we both had to put up with out of necessity."  
"Well whoever said it, whoever wanted it, it's done now, so just stop going on about it!"

She banged the juice glass down on the table. A dash of orange spilled out of it and lay on the metal surface. The table was not quite level and Seiji watched the liquid run like a tear.

"Listen to us, arguing like people who've fallen out of love."  
"Seiji, I hate being away as much as you. But I have to be honest with you and say that I am enjoying the work. I really am."  
"We've enough money now. You don't need to work like this."  
"_Please_ let's not go round in circles. I don't want to come back to some local dead end job in Cremona."  
"Like mine?"  
"You know that's not what I meant."  
"My point is working in Cremona needn't be a boring dead end job. Shizuku, you're a great writer. That story you read to me that time at Milan airport, it was fantastic. You've offered that to publishers have you?"  
"Yes. No takers. Seiji, I mean it. I'm done with writing. I gave up sending out manuscripts over two years ago. I've not written anything for nearly three years."

She didn't hold his gaze but dropped her eyes to the orange tear on the table. He looked at her. His heart overflowed with tenderness. He wanted to hold her.

"All that writing you do on the laptop?"  
"All work. Translations."  
"I didn't know. I thought they were stories."  
"No. Seiji, I'm sorry, but the girl you saw in the library has gone now."

His heart couldn't take much more of this. He reached out a hand and picked up hers, ran his fingers over the palm.

"No she's not. She's right here. She just grew up. But I still love her. And I hate arguing with her."

They sat quietly for a few minutes. Which was good because his heart was in his throat and he couldn't speak. A horrible vision came to him. One in which she let his hand go, stood up, and walked away.

"Seiji, darling. People just change. I'm twenty four now. It was ten years ago that I had a dream to be a writer. Please don't treat me as though I have betrayed us, that's not how it is. If it's any consolation to you, it makes me sad as well. I wish more than anything that I could have stayed at home all day writing and making money from it. And being there for you when you came home from work. I would have loved that. It's what we both wanted wasn't it? That was our dream. But it was just a dream. One day I woke up. It's no-one's fault, Seiji. And I love you as much as ever. Look, it's Sunday. We've got nothing planned. Let's go back home. Back to bed. Let's have some fun."

He thought about it all. It was funny in a way. When they had planned all this, when they'd sat and talked for hours on the hilltop in their special place, they had always taken it as a given that Shizuku would write and sell stories – they never once doubted that. What they had worried about was whether he would be good enough to make violins. So it made him smile – here he was getting on well as Signore Guarnieri's pupil, even to the point that violin collectors, orchestra backers and violinists were apparently watching him to see what he would do. And then here was Shizuku, working in an office in a suit, her dream of being a writer dead in the dust behind them. Life was so strange sometimes.

His mind turned to her last comment. And it shocked and dismayed him to discover that the thought of going home with her now, and undressing her, and seeing her beauty, and taking her to bed just didn't excite him. He didn't want to do it. He had never felt this way before. Maybe he just wasn't in the mood. Maybe this conversation – well argument actually - had upset him and distracted him so that physical pleasure simply didn't appeal to him right now. Or maybe there was something else?

Then he thought about the last year or so and realized that for a long time their lovemaking had become less enjoyable. That sweet sharp crazy hot raw beautiful edge had worn off. He put that down to the whole situation of his unhappiness with the amount of time they were apart. Which was just _stupid_, because the times they were together they should be treasuring all the more, their lovemaking ought to be getting more exciting because the opportunities were fewer. But it wasn't turning out like that, and that upset him. He could see a possible situation in the future, in years to come, when they didn't have sex at all and that was a completely bleak scenario he refused to contemplate.

But right now he didn't want to touch her body, or have her see his. Right now he wanted to touch her mind, and have her see his. So he pressed on, he kept on talking. He found himself looking not at her but at that orange tear as though it represented something. Something casually spilled and forgotten, when really it was the burning centre of what was important. Things spilled, mistakes made, needed to be cleaned up, so they didn't get worse. So as Seiji sat there on a cold sharp January morning and his hurting heart opened up, he opened it up, not to her, but to a wet bead of orange juice. Because looking into her eyes was too hard.

"Number One. You know I told you she was terrible, and I hated her when she was finished? That I felt like I'd wasted a whole year making her? Do you remember that conversation in Venice?"

He didn't wait for her answer. She realized he wasn't asking a question. She kept silent and watched his face.

"And again when we were with Luisa where I was afraid you'd hate me because I lied to you? Because I'd told you number one was a terrible violin, and that same day you found out she wasn't? Well, there is part lie and part truth in all of that. You see, she was rubbish when I finished her. It really was a terrible piece of work. Where that note came from that grandpa drew out of her I don't know. When she was first made I couldn't get anything pretty out of her at all. But that wasn't the end of it. I put her aside for some time. Years, in fact. I tried my hand at a second violin. That one took me about eight months. It was hard work because I tried not to make the same mistakes. I tried to understand what had gone wrong with the first one, but my ability was still so limited. Number two was better but I still wasn't happy with it all. So I tried again. Number three pretty much worked and sounded nice. She didn't turn out quite how I expected but she was OK. I sold her to Hiromi a few years later and I think Hiromi made a wise choice. Who knows, number three might even be worth something in years to come, she has an interesting sound, quite thin and reedy a bit like the wind on a high hill, but there is a certain charm to her. She's like a little girl of six or so, squealing. There's a certain cuteness in her sound. But I pressed on. I made about five or six until one day I took number one out again and turned her over, lifted her up, looked at her and tried a few notes."

He reached for his coffee and took a sip. It was cold.

"And by then I think I knew what I was doing. I could begin to see what was wrong with her. You know what I did?"

He looked up. She was staring at him, and in her face he saw that old look, a look he'd not seen for months and months. Care was on her face. That face he loved so much, the face he'd happily die for.

"I stripped her right down, everything. I reworked large parts of her. I re-treated the wood. Another preservative dip, moved the internal bracing. Tried packing in different places. She has a completely new face plate. I looked carefully at the S holes and reworked those. And I rebuilt her, slowly and carefully. In between working on number six and seven I eventually finished the violin that was the most important to me. I think the rebuild took longer than the original construction."

He laughed, quietly, at something only he saw, that was humorous only to him.

"During the rebuild I needed more books to better understand how to go about it. Well, heh, you know that part of the story. While I was working to fix a rubbish violin, I became a bit distracted with something else."

Shizuku reached out _her_ hand this time. She took the coffee cup from his hand and moved it aside. She placed her hands around his. He felt his skin warming inside the womb of her cupped palms.

"Do you see this scar? Here near my thumb?"

He turned the hand that was in hers and she looked at his skin. There was a white mark at the base of his thumb. She'd seen it often enough, kissed it often enough.

"I put a chisel into my hand there during the rebuild. It went in deep and grandpa took me to hospital to get it cleaned and have stitches put in. Boy, did that hurt. I couldn't really work on her for weeks, the muscle below the thumb was punctured. So the rebuild, the rework left its scars. It was damn hard work."

He looked at her face again. He was wondering if his point had gone home yet. He looked down at the orange tear again.

"Then when she was all done I picked her up. But I put her down again and walked away. I was so afraid to put a bow cross her strings in case she still sounded bad. It was three days before I had the guts to play her. And she sounded like the violin you know. She was better. Much better. She was _right_. I was finally happy."

He paused,

"You have a rock that grandpa gave you. It used to sit by your bedside but I noticed a while back that you'd put that away as well. Where is it?"  
"With my manuscripts."  
"Take it out. Go and get it out Shizuku. Today while you have nothing else to do. Take my torch from under the kitchen sink and shine a light in it. What will you see?"  
"A secret gem in its centre. One that is deep inside. There might be another one, even more precious that I can't see."  
"That's right. I made about seven violins over several years. But really I was just making one. Just the one. The one I wanted to make all along. I was digging Shizuku, I was looking for that secret gem. I didn't find it in the other violins I made because they just weren't as important to me as the first one. The one that I had made with those eager good intentions all those years before. The one I was really passionate about was the first one. In the end I worked it out for myself and went back to that first one and rebuilt her. The rebuild took more effort than making it in the first place. And it left scars. But when I was finished I had finally made the violin I'd wanted to all along. I finished her just a few weeks before I met you, when you came to the workshop that night. She'd been played a few times, and I'd played her to grandpa and Minami and Kita and Higashi but you were the first person to hear her other than them."

Shizuku lifted his hand in hers and placed the palm against her face. He felt how soft her skin was, how warm. She kissed the scar below his thumb again and placed the hand back on her cheek. Seiji found his thumb where it was below her eye, was wet, her tears were there.

"Polishing," she said  
"Yes, polishing. I really only made one violin that matters to me. At first it was no good. Had it been a book, every publisher I sent it to would have rejected it. So I polished it. And the effort was worth it."  
"I never did that. Polishing. I heard grandpas advice and simply ignored it. Instead of polishing the first one I went on to write other stories."

He looked at her and there was a light shining on her face.

"Instead of polishing the first one," she said, "instead of rebuilding my first violin I made a second and a third and a fourth hoping each would be better. But they weren't. I didn't go back and strip down the first one to find out what was wrong with it. I probably carried on the same mistakes in my later work."

She smiled at him.

"I know what to do now."  
"Let's go home."  
"Hm, yes."  
"I think I'll take you up on your offer."  
"Offer?"  
"Bed."  
"Sorry, no. I want to get my manuscripts out and do a re-read. Especially my first one."

He smiled, "that sounds even better. But when you are done working today, I'll be waiting."

He reached out with a paper napkin and wiped up the spilled orange.

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29 - 30 January 2007

For author notes about chapter 40 please see my forum (click on my pen name)


	42. Ch 41 Waiting: The Second Time

**Chapter Forty One – Waiting: The Second Time **

He woke in the night. He didn't know what had woken him but he thought immediately of her. He was worried. She _never_ turned her phone off. Yesterday evening he'd just avoided looking at the problem properly and had fooled himself into believing a scenario that he now knew wasn't true. Couldn't be true. Because she never switched it off. Ever. Even when it needed charging she ran a power cable at her desk, or did it overnight at the bedside. It was never away from her and never off. The truth of this was unavoidable.

He reached onto the bedside table. The clock told him it was just coming up to four. He listened.

Silence.

At four in the morning Cremona was asleep. No cars passed on the roads. No trains in the distance. Nothing and no one stirred. Only people filled with worry, people who could not sleep. He picked up his phone and called her. Her number could not be reached, her phone was still off. It would be three a.m. in Belgium and she should be asleep. The phone should be beside her on the bedside table. And it should be switched on. What was happening?

Naked, he got out of bed and walked around the apartment for a while. But everywhere he went things reminded him of her; two coffee mugs on the kitchen side, her photo on the window sill, a pair of her sandals by the door, some of her makeup on the dressing table, her shampoo in the shower.

As he walked his mind began to turn possible scenarios over in his head. Over and over. None of them was promising. It was no good. He went back to bed.

But he couldn't sleep.

He lay there and thought of her. His mind showed him her face. The eyes of his mind saw her dark calm eyes. The fingers of his mind reached out and touched the sweet line of her chin. The senses of his mind smelled her hair.

He began to realize how much he cared. Really cared. It hurt to not know what was happening, to not know she was alright. To just not know. It hurt to not be able to hear her voice. He closed his eyes and turned onto his side. Fallen autumn leaves, sharp and spicy. He could smell her on the pillow.

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19 January 2007

For author notes about chapter 41 please see my forum (click on my pen name)


	43. Ch 42 Reunion

**Chapter Forty Two – Reunion**

Seiji focused more and more on the techniques and processes of violin making. He began to investigate ways to season, store, prepare and treat wood, and he experimented with different woods, making up his own composites and laminates. He bought a nineteenth century German violin and took it apart to see what was in the makers mind when he'd made it. What he found there surprised him, like a human face the two sides were not symmetrical. He'd heard that some Stradivarius violins did not have symmetrical S cuts; the man had worked towards the sound rather than the look of the thing, but this German instrument was very odd, it was almost misshapen with it's deeper and longer waist on one side. That got him thinking in new ways and from number 26 onwards he began to work with non-symmetrical composite constructions.

And Shizuku continued to work in Pisa and Rome and stayed away most weeks at least one or two nights. However she reloaded all her writing back onto the laptop and some days on the train or evenings in her hotel she would take an old story out and look at it as objectively as she could. After such a passage of time her eye was fresh and she read things that now seemed clumsy and ugly, so she would replace and rewrite long passages, even add new characters and sub-plots, or where these were not vital to the energy of a story, ruthlessly delete them. With one book she took away it's whole third person narrative and replaced it in the first person and suddenly the story came alive, the immediacy and intimacy the first person gave the story made it a whole new book.

-oOo-

In late January Yumiko phoned and asked them to come and visit. Seiji knew their current tenant would leave the Earth Shop in late February so they arranged to come back for his birthday. Yumiko said there would be a surprise, could they stay a month in Tokyo? Seiji had to clear this with Signore Guarnieri but, yes, he himself would take a well earned long break and allow Seiji to take a month. He could return early in April. Shizuku had to use up almost her entire annual leave allowance in one hit, but with much careful persuasion her boss agreed.

It was a happy time. They spent a month in the Earth Shop and made it their own. Shizuku found that the past wasn't there, the place was so different now and so fresh, she began to feel quite at home there. There were pangs of a feeling she'd not expected and she realized they were homesickness. No matter how long they spent in Italy, Tama was really still their home and their four and a half years away fell off them in a few days. They'd go out walking on the hills and among the tree lined sloping streets. One evening they went to their special place but found the old wire fence had been replaced with a new one of steel railings. They couldn't get onto the patch of ground and there was a developers signboard there, new houses were planned on the site. The two of them stood looking at the long untidy grass and after a while, a little sad, they turned away. That grass, that concrete berm, that view, had been a crucial place for them; it had been their crucible, their font. They had sat there, talked, cuddled and made love on that grass. It had been the place he had proposed to her that first crazy dawn. But that had been a long time ago and they were grown up now. The world couldn't stay frozen in time for their benefit. Time had moved on, and so had they.

Seiji's birthday was fantastic. His father arranged a meal at a hotel. Shizuku's parents went, and Seiji and Shizuku invited Yuko and Sugimura who had _still_ not married although they had permanent plans to, they just never seemed to get round to it.

One of the big surprises of their stay was that Shizuku phoned Michiko and she was in Tokyo for an indoor tennis tournament. Her husband was with her and one evening the six of them got together for dinner. It was fun for the three girls to chat about the old days and laugh and Shizuku was so glad they'd had this opportunity.

For a week, Seiji, Shizuku, Sugimura and Yuko went on a driving holiday to the Sea of Japan coast near Niigata and Maki and they toured and walked in the hills. Shizuku asked Yuko when the big day would be and her reply was they just didn't know. At the moment they were happy living in their apartment and working and the idea of confirming their current status with the symbol of marriage just didn't seem necessary. Shizuku told her it wasn't a confirmation of status, it was a whole new step in a relationship. She told her about the words she'd spoken at the altar, of how she'd felt about committing _for ever_ to one man; how that felt. _For ever_ meant until she died. Of those promises, to worship, to obey, to honour, to love, to keep - they made a life together something entirely different: she urged Yuko to think about it more, to get Sugi to think about it again.

-oOo-

And the surprise Yumiko had mentioned? They knocked on the Earth Shop door one Saturday afternoon. Seiji's mom had checked to make sure they stayed in, and on the doorstep was a man he'd not seen for over ten years, and with him a woman he'd never seen.

"You've got hair like I had at your age Seiji. It suits you."  
"Kouji?"  
"Hello baby brother."  
"Kouji!"

And the two men hugged while two women stood a little behind, a part of this and yet apart.

Seiji's brother had got married long ago, he knew that, he remembered that no family had gone to the wedding. It had been all a part of the big problem break up at the time. Pom, his Thai wife was a compact and neat person, very quiet. Kouji was nearly thirty now and had taken Thai nationality. Talking with him that afternoon, taking tea with him, was like talking to a stranger, a stranger who was also well known to him. There was a man he'd never met in his house, and yet it was like the week before, a week before that had been eleven years earlier when Kouji, his rucksack packed for his Thailand trip with his friends, had shaken Seiji's hand. Seiji couldn't know that he'd not see that grin again for over ten years – he'd expected it to be a month. They did the usual things, said the usual things. Seiji invited them to Italy and Kouji invited them to Bangkok but both of them knew these things were hardly likely to happen. That evening they went to their parents house to eat. It was the first time the whole Amasawa family had been together for a long time. One seat of course was empty, an elderly talkative man with white hair and wise words wasn't there but that was alright, the things he had done had helped bring another person in his place and Shizuku was completely happy for the first time in years.

-oOo-

Seiji didn't treat that month entirely as holiday. For him it was an opportunity. He took with him a list of names he'd got from people in Europe, people he'd met at auctions and people the Signore knew. He spent two or three days on his own in a hired car visiting a number of galleries, museums and the offices of orchestras. He felt this wasn't entirely right, not completely the proper way to do it but he met no-one who was offended. Or rather, if they were offended, they didn't show it. The Japanese way. The way people did business here was something new to him, in Italy he'd become used to a more open, brash and opportunistic way of working. He was surprised at one meeting. A man named Oshii, the director of the Sumitomo Mitsui Orchestra, told him he'd wondered when he'd call. The director knew Signore Guarnieri, they had two Guarnieri el Gesu violas from the 1740s in the orchestra. So watching what the living Guarnieri's pupil would do was a part of his job.

Seiji came away from those three days of meetings with several more useful phone numbers. And a feeling of great humility. People were expecting things of _him_.

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27 January 2007, 12:10 – 13:50  
29 January 2007, 07:15 – 08:20  
01 February 2007, 07:35 – 08:35 and 13:10 – 13:25

For author notes about chapter 42 please see my forum (click on my pen name)


	44. Ch 43 Via Giovanni Maria Platina

**Chapter Forty Three - _Via Giovanni Maria Platina_**

The spring wore on and summer came. That last glorious summer when she was still pure and only his. Years later Shizuku would look back on that summer and be reminded of Luisa's words describing her days in 1938 in Munich with Shirou. A summer that seemed to go on and on for ever and in which everything was perfect. The cramped accommodation at the _Via Versecchi_ began to be a real problem. Shizuku needed her reference library at her fingertips (the three quarters of it she'd never scanned to the laptop), and her reading books and Seiji wanted to bring his remaining violins from Japan, and grandpa's cello and maybe, if they could find room, his bike. But there was just nowhere to store it all.

Once again, therefore they began the search for somewhere to live. This time they were more fussy, before they had just wanted somewhere cheap and in the city centre. Now they needed more room but nothing that would put them in the financial chaos they had got themselves into before. After two months of looking and two places that slipped through their fingers they found what they were looking for. In fact, much more than what they had dared hope for. Again it was a third floor _appartamento _tucked up under the eaves of a nineteenth century converted merchants town house. This one however had been renovated only two years previously and was in beautiful condition with a bathroom Shizuku fell in love with the moment she walked in the door. Before they'd had to put up with a pokey little room that was just big enough for a shower, a toilet and a sink. This room was quite large and contained a proper bath, a lovely deep corner one reached by two steps. _Big enough for two_ she had thought the moment she saw it. Finally she could soak as long as she liked. There was also a shower cubicle (so practical in the hot summers). There were two bedrooms, two receptions and a small kitchen. The main bedroom and the dining room both had balconies off them, overlooking the courtyard at the back of the property. The balcony from the bedroom was large enough to fit a table and chairs on and it was perfect for breakfasts or romantic dinners where the bed was only a few feet away. They were so lucky – in Tama they'd had their special place, high up. At the _Via Versecchi_ they'd had the roof. Here there was the balcony. High places. They both loved them. The dining room had hinged glass doors the whole width of one end of the room and with them fully folded and opened back to the walls the room was enormous by their standards and ended at the wide deep balcony. Amazingly the rent was within budget. Apparently the landlord having renovated it had set the rent far too high and he'd had no tenants for over a year. Only the previous week he had instructed his agent to lower the rent. Seiji and Shizuku were the third people to look at the property that morning. Knowing this was too good to be true they went straight back to the letting agent there and then and put down the first months rental in advance, in cash.

-oOo-

And so Seiji and Shizuku Amasawa came to live at the _Via Giovanni Maria Platina. _It was on the south slope of the city and closer to both the _Duomo_ and his workshop, but further from the station. No matter, she'd just set her alarm clock fifteen minutes earlier and enjoy the walk through the old city. She could vary her route every day through the maze of streets. There were so many nice things about _Maria Platina_ but one of the nicest was that the old gardens of the merchants house were a communal space, access was open to the tenants of all six _appartamenti_, and below their balconies was a little green private oasis, a lawn, a fountain and a cluster of pine trees under whose sweet smelling shade they would spend many wonderful afternoons, talking, reading, she writing and he just watching her. He would come here to play in the evenings and she would lose herself, and her heart again, listening to him. And in the darkness of the night they would sit on the bench by the fountain and just touch each other and draw moans from each other and find again that simple and pure thing they had lost when they'd looked through the railings that had shut them out from their special place above Iroha-Zaka. This garden became special and Shizuku would write here some of the most powerful things her imagination had ever reached out for and grasped and made alive.

And they bought a car. A small, elderly cranky little FIAT with a soft roof they could fold down in summer. Seiji began to use it to get around, to visit people in the music community – auction house owners, gallery owners, orchestras, dealers in instruments. His mind bent now towards two objectives; making fine violins of an unusual asymmetrical design he could finally call his own; and paving the way so that when he was ready, he would have somewhere to sell them. He also began to contact orchestras and offer his instruments on loan for their violinists to play at concerts. The feedback that began to trickle back from this was invaluable and he made adjustments to his work accordingly.

-oOo-

One day, in September, Seiji sat back from his workbench. He put his hands into the small of his back and pressed an aching muscle there, he groaned. He looked to his left where a shadow filled the doorway.

"Whose is this?" the shadow asked  
"What is it?" the young Japanese man replied  
"This is a violin school, therefore I assume it's a violin."  
"What do you mean, Signore? Isn't it?"  
"I don't know. Look at it boy. What shape is this? It looks like someone has sat on it."  
"Is that a problem?"  
"Of course it's a problem. I pay you to learn to make violins, not cushions!"  
"Have you played it sir?"  
"I wouldn't know how to play a cushion."

He held the instrument out with a disdainful look. Seiji stood and took it. Number 27, _Maria Platina_ named for their new home. He'd finished it two weeks ago and had left it just lying around, hoping this would happen. Hoping to arouse the Signore's interest. It wasn't the first asymmetrical violin he'd made, number 26 _Asymmetrica_ finished in April, held that honour but _Maria Platina_ was more obviously mis-shapen. You needed a violinists eye to see the oddities in _Asymmetrica_ but any casual observer could see straight away that there was something strange about _Maria Platina_.

"Please come into the hallway with me, the resonance in here is terrible."

He led the way through to the dark, cool panelled hallway, where the old black telephone sat on its table. Signore Fabrizio was there, polishing the panelling. As he led his master through the room Seiji found his palms were sweating.

He stood, tried to relax, and lifted the bow. He began. For six minutes he played the third movement of Edouard Lalo's _Symphonie Espagnol_. Then he lowered the bow. He noticed Fabrizio had stopped polishing, he'd not moved since the moment the music had begun.

"Alright," Guarnieri said, "I'll let you make cushions. But just you mind the shape. And I certainly don't want to see anything too much resembling bananas. Whatever experiments you are trying out, Amasawa, these are still supposed to be violins. Sound isn't everything. They must be beautiful too. You wouldn't take to your bed a woman shaped like that would you? So be careful."

He turned to go, then thought of something else and stopped. Without looking back he said,

"And Amasawa, you've only been with me five years. There are five more yet. You have plenty of time to prove whatever it is you're trying to prove. My advice is take things slower. Oh, and Fabrizio, those panels won't polish themselves. Get to it."

And he walked away.

Fabrizio watched him go. Then he looked at Seiji. And winked.

And that was all. Cushions and fruit never got mentioned again. Seiji pressed on with his experimentation.

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01 February 2007

For author notes about chapter 43 please see my forum (click on my pen name)


	45. Ch 44 On The Roof

_Author note: I'm very sorry about this. I know I said I'd not write another of these but I just found it starting to happen in this chapter and couldn't stop writing, it was so much fun..._

**Chapter Forty Four – On The Roof**

There was one feature the new _appartamento_ lacked and which they missed. A flat roof. That little cramped but private space they could retreat to at night. So a few days before they left their little place on the _Via Versecchi_, Seiji decided to go up there one last time.

She had come home and let herself in. Seiji was in the kitchen, leaning against the breakfast bar, facing her. He wore an old baggy tee shirt, much too big for him, and light loose shorts. She slipped off her shoes and entered. Something about the way he was standing, about the face he wore, alerted her that something was up.

It started innocently enough.

"How was your day?"  
"Not bad. Not bad at all. Good even. I had no meetings today, no traveling. I spent the day writing up reports. Got it all done by six and left a clear desk behind. I like days like that."  
"That's good. I don't like it when you come back tired."  
"Hm. So what's happening?"  
"Take your clothes off."

She didn't move. She knew how odd he could be sometimes. Some strange idea or urge would get hold of him and he'd suddenly do the unexpected. She rested her weight on one leg, bent the other and where her hip stuck out she put a hand on it. _Girl with attitude_, this pose said. _Just try it little man_.

He looked at her, at her small stockinged feet, at her legs, the skirt of the suit being just on the sexy side of businesslike, stopping two inches above her knees. He looked at her hips and waist. He let his gaze move up her front to the opening of her shirt, to her throat, always enticing, to her smooth neck. Finally his gaze rested on her face. She had one eyebrow raised. That expression said _well, boy, what are _you _going to do about it?_

"Come on, take your clothes off."  
"I don't trust you. What have you got planned?"  
"You're a funny girl. Your husband welcomes you home and asks you to undress and suddenly you're full of suspicion."  
"I know you too well. I expect Adamo is in here somewhere with a camera or something equally perverted."  
"Feel free to look around," he gestured with open palms, "it's just us here. No hidden friends, no microphones, no webcams."  
At this last possibility, she snorted, "You wouldn't dare."  
"You seem very sure."  
"Because I know you don't want to die."  
"Are you going to take off your clothes or not?"  
"You haven't given me an incentive yet."  
"An evening with me. Full of fun, excitement and love. _And_ I've trimmed my fingernails tonight."  
"Hm… I'm still not convinced."  
"We move at the weekend. You remember when we moved in? We blessed the place? Well, I thought it would be nice to say goodbye to it. Up on the roof. You know, in a special way."  
"In a naughty way you mean."  
"If you want to think like that."  
"Clearly you do."  
"I didn't say anything about being naughty. I seem to recall someone else brought the conversation round to naughtiness."  
"You asked me to strip!"  
"Yes, but I never said anything about being naughty."  
"Oh, right, so we're going to redecorate are we? With me in my skin?"  
"Well if that's what you want to do, don't let me stop you," his crooked smile widened.  
"Not particularly. But I do remember once a few years ago when you suggested exactly that."  
"I did?"  
"Oh, yes. You odd man."  
"I've been corrupted. By you."

For a full minute they stood facing each other, his crooked smile versus her girl power pose and raised eyebrow. After a while she thought, _well if he thinks having me naked will give him an advantage, I'll show him that's not the case_.

Watching him carefully, not taking her eyes off him, she began to undress. She opened her suit jacket, slid it slowly off her shoulders and with nowhere within reach to hang it, she threw it at him. He caught it and laid it on the kitchen side. Keeping her weight on one leg she reached behind her for the catch and zip of her skirt. Slowly she drew down the zip and eased the tight fitting skirt as slowly as she could down and off her hips. She stepped out of it and squatting but keeping her eyes on him, she picked it up and threw that to him also. Standing up straight the hem of her blouse didn't quite reach her stocking tops. She began to unbutton the blouse. First the cuffs. Her gaze never faltered but he shifted his weight and uncrossed his legs.

"Uncomfortable are we?" she asked  
"No, not in the least. Very comfortable in fact."

She knew he was lying, his crooked smile looked fixed, strained. Held on with effort. She continued. A few buttons were open now.

"What colour?"  
"Mm?"  
"What colour underwear am I wearing?"  
"White?"  
"Ooh, no. Far too boring."  
"Hm. The pink."  
"No, try again." She had unbuttoned her blouse now but held it closed, she smiled sweetly at him.  
"I don't know. Um, black?"  
She rolled her eyes. "With a white blouse? Credit me with some fashion sense!"  
"I don't know."  
"Well, until you guess, this blouse stays closed."

He looked down at her legs, trying to see the suspender drops to see their colour but she'd thought of that and already pulled the blouse down a little at the front, hiding them.

"I. I can't think."  
"Well, you're no fun. You've hardly even tried yet."  
"The yellow!"  
"No. As a clue I'll let you look in my underwear drawer, so you can see which ones I'm not wearing. I know you like looking in there."

Not only was the male part of him damn uncomfortable now but she was getting the upper hand. Things were not going to plan. Then a thought came.

"Lilac! The lilac set."  
"Good boy!" she beamed at him like a school teacher rewarding a particularly slow child, "Amazing what a little persuasion can do for the memory."  
"I only asked you to undress. I didn't ask for the mind games."  
"Well you've been married to me five years, you know me by now. There is no such thing as a free lunch."

Shizuku smiled radiantly at him and opened her blouse. This happened every time. He just _could not_ help looking, she was so pretty. He loved her shape, he was crazy about her body, to him she was perfection. She put her shoulders back deliberately slowly and pushed her chest out and eased the shirt slowly down off her shoulders and arms. Gathering it behind her she paused, weight back on one leg, the other demurely turned inward closing herself, closing her centre. She let the blouse untangle from her arms and lifted it in one hand in front of her. He couldn't take his eyes off her. And she knew he couldn't.

"Catch."

She tossed it at him, high so that it landed on his head, over his face. He smelled her on it. She was doing this deliberately. Everything was calculated to give her an advantage. He pulled it off and laid it with the other things on the work surface.

"More?"  
"Hm. Everything."  
"You don't want me to keep my stockings on?"  
"No. Everything."  
"I see, that's not like you."  
"That's because this isn't what you think."

_Oh, yes,_ she thought, _what has he got planned?_ The bra fastened at the front. She walked up to him, very close.

"Do you want to take it off?"  
"Yes, but I won't. You do it."

She raised her eyebrow again. Her hands came up and twisted the clasp. It opened and she parted her hands, spread her arms in a way deliberately intended to tease. Two small parts of her brushed his tee shirt as she moved. She held the bra out to him. He took it and put it on top of the blouse. Where he touched it he could feel it warm from her body. This was no good, things were not going to plan. He'd intended to tease her, put her at a disadvantage, but she was using her best weapon, her strongest weapon against him. The weapon he could never fight. The urge to scrap all his plans and just grab her right now was so hard to fight. But he managed. Because he knew it would be worth it.

"You always were a man who enjoyed the scenery."

He looked up at her face. He'd been staring at her front. Her eyes were sparkling, full of her usual mischief.

"Now then, you seem to be in my way a little. Excuse me."

While bending down to remove her panties she brushed her front against him, deliberately pressed herself against him as she descended, sliding her last garment off. Where she touched him he could feel her, feel the two places where her body was already responding. Where her flesh touched him through his shirt his skin burned. She lifted the small scrap of lilac material up and held it out for him. He took it _again, still warm_, he thought, and placed it with her suit and blouse. He couldn't see below her waist, she was too close. She put her hands on his forearms and moved her face forward to kiss him. He turned his face away.

"No. Not yet. You're not finished."

_Would this still work? Was she going to be mad at him when he told her?_

Giving him a disdainful look, she ran a hand down his front, stroking all the way down until she briefly held what was below his waist. She gripped him for a moment, squeezed him then turned and walked a few paces away. He watched her, watched her shape. She looked back over her shoulder coquettishly, like a schoolgirl, and began to unclip her stockings. She slid down one, pushed it off and let it fall, then the other. Still with her back to him she reached behind and unclipped the suspender belt and turning to face him, threw it at him as well. He caught it and lay it aside. She stood, not leaning now, but upright, legs a little apart. Languidly she reached up and ran her fingers through her hair. He swallowed. His mouth was dry. She was good at this, good at these games, much better than he. He looked at her. There wasn't an inch of her he wasn't in love with, from her pink toenails to the tip of the longest strand of her hair. But now it was his turn.

"Now, let's get started. Put these on."

From behind him he pulled out a tee shirt of hers, and a short skirt, ordinary casual clothes she might throw on for a day relaxing at home. Old clothes, nothing special. She let her arms fall and frowned.

"What's this?"  
"Put them on. We're saying good bye to our roof remember. You can't go up there like that."

_Oh, yes, now this was fun, her expression was priceless. _

"Well what was all that for just now?"

_Perfect. _

"All I said was get undressed. I think it was you who read more into it than was there."  
"You want me to put an old tee shirt and this skirt on?"

He nodded. It was a short skirt, full and pleated.

"With no underwear?"  
"I'm not wearing any."  
"I know that. I can see."  
"And then follow me."

He turned his back on her and went to the bedroom, out of the window and up the fire escape. He got to the roof. It was dark now and around him the city grumbled and rumbled and talked. He loved it up here. Footfalls were on the fire escape ladder. He turned. She climbed up, stood, and looked. There was nothing up here. Just him, the metal table and chairs and – _hm_, his CD player. She had expected a blanket or two, or a futon, but no, nothing, just the concrete roof.

"Shall we begin?"

He pressed a button on the CD player. A low beat began and slowly built up, one of his electrofunk albums. He'd got the music turned _way_ up. _This might upset the neighbours_ she thought. He stepped close to her and suddenly became a robot and turned and moved around her, doing his robot dance moves. She smiled, turned with him to watch him.

_When had they last done this? Years back._ She wondered if she could remember how to do it. For a few minutes he danced and she watched. The music grew louder and the main theme started, she found herself wanting to dance. But why all that charade downstairs? Getting her all warmed up (she was wet there, and already open, she could feel it) and himself as well – for this? It made no sense.

He moved away from her a little then came back, as he came close he reached out a mechanical hand and laid it against the side of her breast and stroked, just lightly down the side and across the tip. She bit her lip. That was good. He moved away again, then came back. He slid around behind her. She didn't turn and she felt him close, very close, his breath on the back of her neck. Then one of his hands was on her leg, it slid up the back and under her skirt, lifting the material. His light fluttering touch reached her bottom and a single finger slid up between... between her. Up _there_. It probed deeply and touched right inside… then it flickered away and was gone. She breathed in. Hmmm… yes, this was nice.

A moment later he was back, a hand on her neck, stroking. Another on her stomach, lifting her tee shirt and slipping under across her abdomen. Gone again.

After a while he came again but behind her and placed a finger on her spine at the top. She knew what that was: a contact move, a move indicating he was passing the power to her. He went still, it was her turn. She was a bit awkward about this, she'd never been as good as he at this style of dance and she was self-conscious. But the music was pounding now, making her want to move and then, right in her ear came his whispered voice.

"Go."

So she did, she moved more smoothly than him, it was just her style. She was more liquid and less mechanical but it was still robot dancing, well, just. She moved away from him and turned to face him, as she danced she discovered the other reason why he'd not let her wear a bra. She bounced, she flowed, her whole front was alive with motion. Hmm, it felt good. As she moved the tips of her breasts rubbed against the cotton of her shirt and that excited her more. She looked at him. He was frozen, a dead machine, but his eyes watched her, drank her all in. And then she finally got it. They could make love like this, yes, they could probably do it, do everything but one at a time, one moving and dancing and the other had to remain still until given the signal to move, until given _permission_. A hot pleasure went through her, growing outwards from her belly. Hmm, if they did this right it could be very good. And thus the reason for no underwear and loose clothing, old clothing that didn't matter.

She returned to him, sliding and jerking. She moved right in front of him just vibrating a little like a machine stuck in a loop. She pressed her mouth to him, opened hers and forced his dead inert jaws open. She put her tongue in. His remained slack, switched off. She teased him.

_Oh, my God, yes, this was going to be good._

She spent a minute with her mouth on him, doing everything she could to arouse him, and then moved away. A thread of her spit was on his lip, hanging down his chin but playing the game properly he didn't move. She went behind him, and vibrated her body against his, pressed herself to him. She reached around to his front and into his shorts, and down, and held him. She felt him tense up. With one hand she pulled his skin back, exposing him and with the fingers of her other hand she rubbed the every end of him. He moaned and twitched like a live thing, but he kept still, just. She touched him like that, exquisitely, teasing, for a couple of minutes and then moved away again. Finally she came in front of him and lifted her fingers, wet with his fluid. She held them an inch from his mouth. His eyes were wide and still, but she could feel his breath coming in rasps on her wet fingers, could hear him.

_Oh, yes, sometimes he did have some very good ideas. Very, very good ideas._

She put her fingers in her mouth and tasted him. Slowly, a few inches from his face. Then she reached an arm behind him and gave him the power, gave him the signal for his turn.

And it went on like that, for thirty minutes. Each of them taking turns to dance and to _do things_ to the other. With the loose clothing they could reach in and touch anywhere but in a place where people might see them from other rooftops there was nothing to see. But the thing was, foreplay like this was a sweet agony, each one teased the other to a certain point and then stopped, and the one who was gasping for it, brought to the edge had to dance in their aroused state and pleasure the other. It became a competition, a race, a test, almost a torture. Definitely a torture. It was like some weird form of submission, of bondage but without any mechanical means of restraint – just your own mind, and your willpower. And Shizuku found she needed a _lot_ of willpower. Just to keep still, just to keep silent.

For five minutes he tortured her mercilessly. He lifted her shirt to expose her breasts and then stood in front of her moving robotically with his fingers, like mechanical claws, pinching and rubbing and scraping her nipples. She was close to screaming with pleasure and frustration but kept still because she knew that soon he'd be at her mercy, and she would make it worse for him.

Towards the end the dancing style suffered a lot and the mechanical moves pretty much got forgotten but the point was if it wasn't your turn you had to keep still, and if it was your turn, you could do anything. Anything you liked, to the other. So it got worse, more daring, more obscene, simply more of everything until they couldn't bear it. But it was a competition, neither would give in, both refused to be the one to reach a peak first.

The music added to the sensations, its loud pulsing sexual rhythm drove them on. At one point he had several fingers in her and it was impossible to stifle a moan any longer and she cried out. God, she was close, so close, but he wouldn't let her finish. The fingers went away and her hot burning raw need went on. He came close again. She was ready to explode, God she absolutely needed to finish, she couldn't take much more of this. He lifted his hand. Her fluid coated it, she could smell herself. His fingers almost touched her lips. His face was right in front of hers, his eyes looked hard at her, he was smiling. Would he? Would he put his wet fingers in? This was so _rude_, they'd done nothing quite this sexy, this _dirty_ before. And then she wanted it, she wanted to taste herself, she didn't care anymore. Whatever he did to her, and she meant _anything_, she'd do it, and she'd enjoy it. God, if he even put his fingers into a hole he shouldn't, or even the hard part of himself in there, she'd even want that. She was simply gone now. She'd come to such a sharp painful ready intensity that yes, anything he did to her she'd accept. And enjoy.

With his free hand he grabbed her hair at the nape of her neck and pulled her head back. Hard.

"Open your mouth"

She obeyed. He lifted the wet hand above her mouth and slowly a long bead of the honey-like fluid formed from his fingertips. She watched it, watched it grow longer and longer and hang down toward her mouth. Then, breaking the rules of the game she put out her tongue and let the long strand of clear liquid fall onto it. The liquid ran down her tongue, and some of it ran off the end and dripped down her chin. Almost crazy with the roaring need that burned inside her, she gave up and lifted her head. Moved when she wasn't supposed to. She reached up with her lips and tongue and licked his fingers, drew them into her mouth and sucked on them, ran her tongue over them. She tasted herself and found it sweet, in her heat it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever tasted. And that was it, she'd lost, he'd won. He smiled an evil grin of victory. She grabbed him, pushed him backwards until he pressed against the gable end wall of the sloping roof adjacent to theirs and her mouth closed over his and she literally ate him. She was moaning and he was too. One of her hands went into his shorts, one of his up her skirt. His fingers caressed gently around, spiraling inwards. The inside of her thighs were slick with her fluid, in the last thirty minutes she'd leaked like crazy. She gasped and broke contact,

"For fucks sake, do me or I'll kill you!"

His fingers found her, entered, dug in deep and rubbed at her core. Shizuku flung her head back and screamed as it happened, and it went on happening and on and on and she cried out and didn't care who heard her or who saw them. This was so good, this was the best ever. She'd not had a feeling like this _ever_ before. It went on and on. She put her head on his shoulder and actually bit into his flesh, through the cotton shirt the copper taste of blood was in her mouth. She had to bite to keep from crying out. He roughly turned her around, pushed her to the wall, took himself out, lifted one of her legs and entered her. All in one smooth, hard, fast movement. He pushed into her deeply and fiercely. She cried out again. She lifted her other leg and wrapped them around him and pressed her back hard against the wall. She could feel the rough stonework on her skin, feel it digging through her shirt, scratching and grazing her but she didn't give a fuck. It was going on, it wasn't stopping, her orgasm just wasn't stopping. As he entered her she put her arms around his neck, and he began to move. He dipped his head down, found one of her nipples through the cloth of her shirt and bit it. She yelled again. Seiji was crying out as well, he wouldn't last long, moments only. She gasped his name over and over and the tears flowed. He became a frenzied thing, someone possessed, and then it happened and he screamed as well. She shouted once more, her first orgasm hadn't stopped, either it had just gone on for ages, or she'd had several. She didn't know and she didn't care.

-oOo-

Slowly, slowly it ended. Seiji just managed to remain standing, but he leaned into her and pressed her bruised back against the wall. Where his hands held her bottom his knuckles were skinned and bloody from the rough stone. He'd simply not noticed. Their breathing slowed, their raw shredded senses returned to near normal. She was weeping gently, her breath drew in and raged out in hot lungfuls. Her face lay on his shoulder and slowly she became calmer. She lifted her head and looked at him. Neither spoke. The sound of ragged breathing was all there was. He looked into her eyes and she replied silently. For a long beautiful moment they were at perfect peace, nothing more was needed. He couldn't move his hands, he still held her weight. She was holding herself up with her arms around his neck but by letting more of her weight press back onto the wall and by gripping his hips tighter with her legs she could slide her hands down a little and with her fingers caress the back of his neck and run the back of her hand down his cheek. He kissed her knuckles. He smiled, not a crooked smile, or a smile with humour in it, but a smile of love and of thanks. Shizuku smiled in return and lifted her head to kiss him. Their mouths pressed together in a gentle flowing tender connection, and they spoke with those mouths.

A few minutes of peaceful healing communion passed, neither wanted this to be over. Shizuku could feel her body still fluttering. She felt like a wounded bird. Parts of her still sang and tried to fly, other parts of her were speared by his arrow and twitched as they died. Like a dying bird her heart beat irregularly and was a dull ache inside her. As if it knew this had to end soon, this beautiful connection must soon break. The thing that was in her and still pouring power in like an electrical lead must soon be broken and withdrawn. She didn't want that, she needed him to stay. Stay just where he was and pin her to the wall, pin her in place forever so she could die here. It was quiet. The music had ended. Experimentally, using the muscles in her pelvis, she squeezed him. She was surprised (but pleased) to find that he wasn't smaller, he was still hard. She gripped him again and he moved in her, a twitching straining feeling as though he were making the blood pulse through himself. She loved the feeling of him being there, figuratively and literally she had a hole and when he filled it he completed her. She was finished. He smiled at her. His arms were aching and his bloodied knuckles were sore but he could hold her a little longer. It was he who broke the quiet,

"Shizuku… thank you."

At first she didn't reply, except with a fierce hug. Then stroking her fingers along his jaw again, his face was dry now, the sweat that had been there had evaporated in the cool night air. She answered,

"What for?"  
"For what you did. For what you do. For who you are." He smiled again, "For being here, for sharing everything. Sharing yourself."  
"No need. I'm just half of us. It's like you thanking yourself."  
"Shizuku, I love this. Moments like these. They don't last long enough. Afterwards when you hold me. Moments like this. I feel like I'm all here."  
"How funny."  
"How come?"  
"I was just thinking the same. I love the sensation of you in me, it's like… oh, I really don't know, but a part of me is missing when you're not there."

He kissed her. He twitched in her again.

"You're still hard?"  
"Hm. No idea why. Must be your fault. Excitement I suppose."  
"Want to go again?" she grinned  
"Maybe. But not here. And not yet. I just want to feel this. I'm home."

She gave him a quizzical look.

"When I'm in you. Afterwards. It's where I belong. I can feel you all around me, holding me, squeezing. It's the place I'm meant to be. It's home."  
"I understand, Seiji."  
"Can we have more of this? Of being together – just holding you and talking would do. I feel we have grown apart in the last two years. I'm not going to go on about the jobs we do, its not that. It's different."

He paused and looked at her, at her skin, her lips, her hair. He couldn't get enough of her.

"It's not wrong that we enjoy our jobs and our time when we are apart. I'd just like us to enjoy our time together _more. _Like we used to, years ago. There was an intensity once that's gone now. I want that back."  
"I know. I think part of it is us just being tired, work takes that from you, you can't help it. And partly it's routine, our days are the same, following one on another. That dulls a person's senses."  
"We need to make more effort then, work harder at it."  
"Yes. Now."  
"More? Now?"  
"Hm."

She squeezed him again, several times. He let out a low moan.

"Not here, let's go inside."  
"Carry me."  
"What like this?"  
"Yes. I just don't want you to leave me empty."  
"Not sure that's possible. There's a ladder to go down. And a window to climb through. I think you'll have to go on your own for a moment or two."

And so she put up with that, with the emptiness of disconnection. But only for a while. As soon as they were in the bedroom they undressed and she pushed him onto his back on the bed, she spread herself over him and in a moment she felt him back where she needed him and she pressed down on him, sitting astride him. And then moaning again already, and feeling him deep, she began to move on him.

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01 - 02 February 2007

For (grovellingly apologetic) author notes about chapter 44 please see my forum (click on my pen name)


	46. Ch 45 A Man Who Had Principles

**Chapter Forty Five – A Man Who Had Principles **

During that long lovely summer Shizuku was one day doing some routine maintenance on her laptop. She was sat at the table on the bedroom balcony watching and listening to the birds singing in the fir trees in the garden below. The machine was getting old now and she planned to sell it and buy a new one. She was removing files and doing a general clean up prior to moving her work to back up CDs and she found herself working through her internet bookmarks.

She came across a long section that she had used when researching the Baron's background and Luisa's story. One link she'd kept but never followed up and now out of idle curiosity she opened the page and began to read. It was a list of German soldiers of World War Two. The site was a huge place, mostly intended for use by geneaologists but linked to the German Government War Service and Records Department. So she went there. She typed in a name. To her surprise only five men with that surname and first name were listed. One had been a pilot, shot down and killed in the skies over Britain in 1940. Another had been a sailor on a cruiser. Two more were born too early and had been in their 40s during the war. The last name though was him. She knew it was, the date of birth was exactly right and the place. His regiment and division were listed as was his war service.

Shizuku had the same feeling come over her as she had when she'd read that horrid journal of Kinu's. She didn't really need to know this, didn't want to know, but some force made her go on. She clicked on the link.

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**Trommler, Falko Karl**. b. Sonthofen 12 June 1914 – d. Konigsberg 7 Feb 1945.

Volunteer. 12 March 1935 joined Infanterie Regiment Nr.61 of Infanterie Division 7, a Bavarian unit. Headquartered in Munich, part of Wherkreis VII.

8 July 1939 transferred at own request from IR 61 to Aufklarungs (or Reconaissance) Battalion 7. The reconnaissance unit attached to Infanterie Division 7.

Served in southern Poland in September 1939 where Trommler's Battalion saw considerable manouvering in pursuit of retreating Polish forces but only minor combats.

16 December 1939 Trommler promoted Hauptman (Sergeant) in command of a section of motorcyclists.

May-June 1940, Infanterie Division 7 fought against the British Expeditionary Force in the French campaign but went into reserve after Dunkirk. Trommler received the Ritter Kreutz Zweite Klass (Knights Cross Second Class) on August 1st for bravery in his part in attacking and capturing the village of Bondues near Roubaix on 27 May.

1941 Infanterie Division 7 fought in Russia. At siege of Mogliev, Trommler mentioned in unit after action report for his courage, skill and confidence in commanding his men in action. 8 November 1941 promoted Leutnant (Second Lieutenant).

1942 ID 7 in reserve. 14 March, Leutnant Trommler given command of III Zug (3rd Platoon) of the Aufklarungs Battalion motorcycle Kompanie.

1943 Infanterie Division 7 involved in counteroffensive at Kursk. Trommler wounded 12 July. Invalided to Danzig. End of front line service.

January 1944 promoted to Oberleutnant (First Lieutenant) and became staff driver and adjutant to Oberstleutnant (Lieutenant Colonel) Henning von Tresckow. Oberstleutnant von Tresckow was a key figure in attempted assassination of Hitler by bomb at _Wolfschanze_, Rastenburg, Prussia 20 July 1944. Trommler implicated as being a courier carrying communications between the plotters. Tried and executed by firing squad at Konigsberg 7 February 1945.

_at the end of the entry were two stark words: _

Grave unknown.

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Shizuku looked at the screen. At the bare facts of a life. An intelligent, healthy, happy young man who had been unlucky enough to live in the wrong place at the wrong time. She wondered what conversations had taken place between Trommler and Tresckow between January and July of 1944. Until his wound Trommler had been a model soldier. Brave, a good leader, always in the fighting and awarded with a medal and a promotion. But after Kursk something in him must have changed and he was drawn into a network of senior officers who saw the only way to save Germany from destruction was to murder Hitler. What must Falko have gone through, what changes in ideology would make a man do that? From supporter to active treason? Shizuku considered a man who at first had been a Nazi but along with many others he saw the light in the end and came to believe in what was right. And for his conscience he paid the price.

And here, in a Europe that had survived the trauma Hitler and Mussolini had caused, the birds sang in her garden.

She deleted the bookmark. She wouldn't need it again.

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4 February 2007, 11:05 – 12:00  
(small adjustments 5 February 2007, 21:05)


	47. Ch 46 I Was Running Away Towards It

**Chapter Forty Six – I Was Running Away Towards It  
**

_Shizuku - Paris – February 2005  
_  
I was twenty five that November when that glorious summer ended. The day after my birthday I sent a manuscript off to a Tokyo publisher, the first time I'd done that in almost three years. That felt good. Something positive at last.

My job insidiously began taking over more and more of my time. By small degrees which I hardly noticed, although later looking back I saw how it had happened. As I gained experience I became the main interpreter we had for Asiatic clients, and was sent on more jobs that took up more time. Seiji had resigned himself to this long ago, that last evening on the roof of the _Via Versecchi_, and afterwards as we'd talked long into the night, he'd decided to let me press on and in return I'd let him love me more. The issue wasn't how little time we had together, it was what we did with that precious time and how we kept the links strong when we were apart. For Seiji it was all too easy, the picture of me taken next to the tank in the garden at Oberstdorf was in front of him all day every day and he'd often take a break for coffee and talk to that me, tell that me what he was doing that day, how he was thinking about things; what he planned to cook for himself for dinner. By this imaginary means he kept himself close to me, kept up a dialogue with me that helped him when we were apart. He was so sweet. He'd phone me and tell me all about these one way conversations between himself and that picture. But as for me, I was just too busy and was doing things that demanded all my attention. I had to be exact in my work, and focused, there was no time to daydream or think of anything but the _now_ of my day.

It all began that week in Naples. How I remember it, that dinner, and his face. How he smiled and how sympathetic he seemed. Oh, how I wish to God I hadn't gone out for that meal.

"I'm impressed. You did well there."  
"Thanks. The Musumi(1) lawyer was very helpful though, I noticed him pausing before replying. He gave me time to gather my thoughts for the next point."  
"Even so, you're doing well. You've improved a whole lot in the last few months. Technical language," he put a finger and thumb together in a circle, an 'OK' sign, "excellent."

We were in the car on the way back to the hotel. My boss, Signore Portoghese, had allocated Naz and I to a job working with local legislators in negotiations with Musumi who wanted to open a new car plant near Naples. I had only been put in charge of a few small jobs before. This was only my second major set of meetings on my own. I was in charge and in my pathetic naïve innocence was determined to do an excellent job. Naz was along as an observer mostly, to keep an eye on me. We had a stenographer with us and a gopher secretary, a lad called Ed who did the running and fetching and kept us all sane with his never ending stream of blue jokes. We were in Naples for four days and tomorrow was the last day, we'd go back on the train the next evening.

"What are your plans tonight?"  
"Shower, phone my husband, and eat. I'm starving."  
"Let's go out somewhere, I'm sick to death of hotel food."  
"Got anywhere in mind?"  
"It's quite a way but I know a great place in the hills at Santa Anastasia on the north slope of Vesuvius. They do the most amazing _Pollo Cacciatore_, you'd love it."  
"Sounds nice. Let's do that."

Nazario Fuorvi was one of our senior interpreters although it was a young company and he wasn't yet thirty. He'd joined only a year before me. He spoke Spanish, French and German (and of course English, as we all did) and was learning Japanese as well, so he often came on jobs with me. There was only so much you could learn on your own, you had to be with a Japanese speaker for extended periods to pick up the subtleties of a language. He wasn't married so I treated him carefully; friendly and chatty but always professional. He sometimes went over to the flirty side of friendly; I mean he was Italian after all, but having been weaned on several years of Adamo, I knew his type and knew the signs. I drew a line and stayed my side of it, and he stayed on his. We worked together a lot that year and while the line was well defined we did become relaxed in each others company and would go up to that line frequently, because we knew exactly where it was and that crossing it would throw away the excellent working relationship we had built.

Tasha, the stenographer stayed in that evening. Naz and I knew she wanted another two hour long phone sex session with her insatiable boyfriend. It was a standing joke among the various teams who took Tasha away on projects – every spare minute she'd be on her mobile saying the rudest things to him. If we could intercept their cell phone conversations and somehow plug them into our office electricity supply, I'm sure we could have run our computer network off the power they generated. Ed came with us to eat but took a taxi back early, he was dead on his feet. The restaurant was lovely, it had tables outside on a raised patio that overlooked a sloping hillside of orange trees. The patio was roofed with vines _just like Uncle Anton's garden_ I had thought, and there was the most beautiful view over the foothills of Vesuvius towards the Bay of Naples and we had an amazing sunset that evening. The food was excellent and I had a couple of glasses of wine and was really enjoying myself. The whole trip had gone well, I was on a high.

And then he had to go and destroy my world.

"Of course, it's a shame we are mostly wasting our time."

I looked at him,

"How do you mean?"  
"Musumi are paying over four million Euros into the ruling party's election fund."  
"What? Where did you pick that up from?"  
"It's common knowledge with the bosses. They don't mind. We could do a poor job here and it would make no difference."  
"That's wrong. So wrong. Why do people put up with it?"  
"Because they are all at it. It's how most of them make money. The whole system's corrupt. You know Signore Portoghese accepted Musumi shares? Here you are doing a great job and they might as well just have sent Ed for all the difference it makes."

I was furious. No wonder he'd kept off this subject until we were alone.

"Our boss is taking back handers as well?"  
"Everyone is. It's how we do business here. You've come across this before of course."

I looked at him blankly.

"Oh, you haven't then?" Concern showed in his eyes.  
"I'd hoped it was different here."  
"Different to where?"  
"Japan. Before I emigrated I got sick to death of the mess the bureaucrats were making of the economy. It's starting to pick up now but the bad crash of the nineties was due to corruption that had been going on in the government for ten, twenty years. I was so disillusioned. I had to get out of Japan, I couldn't bear to live in a place where everyone in power was so _crooked_ and yet the average person just put up with it – or they were ignorant and didn't know they were being lied to year after year. My parents and people like them voted that same bunch of crooks, that same conservative right wing party into power for – oh – forty years? Since just after the war. It made me so angry."  
"Ten or twenty years you say?"  
"Hm."  
"Italy is much worse. Didn't you know? We've had sixty governments in forty years. They're all dishonest. Or in the pockets of the Mafia. The organized crime here is terrible, some regions are almost enslaved by it, its endemic, a way of life. Where I come from, in Sicily, it's the worst."

I looked at the view. It was so beautiful. I remembered Firenze and the _Ponte del Vecchio_. It was tragic, such a beautiful country, such a romantic place, such lovely people and yet put them in power, and they all go bad. Being a lying cheat must be the basic entry skill for politicians everywhere.

"Hey, look, I'm sorry. I thought you knew. You've been here, what, five years now? I'd expected you to pick up on all this by now."  
"Yes, I knew about the organized crime and the bad governments Italy's had in the past. The shock for me is encountering the corruption so close to home. My own boss, my own company. Surely if people just work hard and work honestly, all that isn't needed?"  
"What use is honest hard work when the company you might be competing with for a contract just gives the client a suitcase full of money? The honest hard workers can't compete. So everybody is forced to be dishonest. We all sink to the lowest level."  
"And you? Do you Naz?"  
"No. I'm an old fashioned guy. I just do a days work and go home and spend my money. You do too. That's good. Don't you get sucked into this, that would be a tragedy."  
"Why?"  
"You're a nice person, very professional. Please stay clean."  
"I feel like I'm being used. Being lied to."  
"If you let yourself feel like that, you'll just give up. I went through that phase a few years ago when I was young and stupid and just starting out. Ah, sorry, I didn't mean to suggest you were young and stupid. Well, not stupid anyway."

He smiled. He had a nice smile.

"But I decided that I'd keep my nose clean and work hard. It's kept me sane."

The sun had set. The sky was a glorious dome of purple and pink. I sipped my wine and his words, his attitude to life and work went around in my head.

Back in my hotel room I didn't call Seiji. I didn't want to. I was in a bad mood and felt like rubbish. If I spoke to him I'd only unburden myself on him and he could do without that. I turned on the television. The news was on. A judge had been murdered. It was a trial of some executives of some big faceless corporation. Charged with massive tax evasion over several years, their response was to get one of their friends to murder the judge. I switched it off and went to bed.

I lay there for an hour feeling stupid and exploited and useless. Three and a half years learning a skill I was so proud of when a Japanese car company could just slip my boss a few thousand shares, and the government a few million Euros and build whatever damned factory they liked.

-oOo-

I opened my eyes. It was morning.

_Crap.  
_  
It was how I felt. Crap, was how I felt about this hotel room. I'd slept in too many. That ceiling. Boring. Another dull boring crap hotel ceiling. Crap, was how I felt about this last days meeting. How could I go in there and do my job knowing I was basically wasting my time? My spirits hadn't been this low for months, probably not since we'd come to Italy. Forcing myself to move, I got out of bed, showered, dressed and went down to breakfast.

Naz was waiting. I made no pretence to cheer up. He was pretty good though and he made a brave attempt to make it better. He couldn't say much as Tasha and Ed were already there. Ed was joking, something about sheep. Tasha laughed at the punch line. I stayed silent. Ed looked at me, shrugged and began another joke. Naz was watching me. I went up to the hot buffet bar. I needed a good dose of cholesterol, I wasn't in the mood to mess about with fruit and yoghurts and all that crap today. Crap. I had to break out of this or I'd stay in a bad mood all day. Then Naz was by my side.

"I'd give the scrambled eggs a miss if I were you."

I didn't respond.

"Too runny. They look like vomit. Taste like it too. I suggest the poached ones."

I lifted the cover of the poached egg dish. They were grey.

"They look like old turds to me."  
"I'd go for the bacon and sausages then. They don't look like the result of any bodily evacuations, so I think you're safe."

I smiled at him.

"You don't need to come up here and hold my hand. I'm a big girl now."  
"You look terrible."  
"Thank you so much, you know all the best lines to make a girl feel loved."  
"Which is why I'm here, to cheer you up."  
"By telling me I look as bad as the poached eggs?"  
"At least you're speaking now, so something's working."  
"It's no good, I think I'll try some of the vomit anyway."  
"That's my girl! You made a joke. We're making real progress now."  
"If I was bad enough to need a psychiatrist, he'd talk like you."  
"I'll send you my bill."  
"Don't hope for too much though. I feel like today I may as well go in there and pour my coffee over that nasty little government mans head and it wouldn't make one bit of difference to whether Musumi get the green light for their factory or not. He's a jerk. And he's got wandering hands. He touched my bottom yesterday."  
"It wouldn't bother Musumi at all. It might make a difference to your job security though."

We stopped by the orange juice dispenser. Orange juice machines. This is where I'd come in wasn't it? I thought of Nao and her banking dream. I wondered how many wrong things she'd knowingly done, how many fake offshore accounts she'd set up at her boss' instruction, knowing them to be fraudulent tax avoidance schemes. How many directors beds she'd slept in to get on in her career. Naz was saying something.

"What?"  
"I said everybody wins. Look, Musumi get their factory and make lots of nice shiny cars that people buy, the government gets a nice fat deposit for their election expenses, Signore Portoghese gets his shares and one day retires off to Amalfi and finally the nice hard working people of Naples get lots of jobs. Everybody wins. Why risk ruining your career over something that doesn't matter? By all means make a personal stand and stay out of it all, but then again don't underestimate them. Nasty little men with wandering hands they might be but they can end your career in a day if they decide they don't like you, or what you do. Portoghese accepting shares puts him in their pocket. Everybody wins, but the price is everybody becomes trapped as well. So keep your mouth shut and do your job the best you can. And never get trapped. At least you'll have your self-worth intact, and that's something worth having."  
"Hm I suppose you're right."

It didn't make me feel any better though.

"And think of your husband, working away up there in Cremona. You guys have a good thing going up there, so work hard, do your best, stay honest and love him as much as you can. I reckon he's worth it, hm?"

Naz was right. If nothing else counted, I needed to hang on in there for Seiji.

"Thanks, Naz. That helps. You're a real friend."

Back at the table I dug my phone out. It was still early, Seiji might be walking to the workshop. I sent him a text. "143", he'd know how to reply.

-oOo-

And that's how I got through the Naples meetings, by Naz reminding me that my marriage was important. Which, as it turned out in the light of what came later, was the most ironic thing he ever said to me.

But one nice thing happened at that last meeting. My phone chimed. An incoming text. "1432" it said, and it made me warm and fuzzy knowing that the most wonderful man in the world was thinking of me.

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5 - 6 February 2007

For author notes about chapter 46 please see my forum (click on my pen name)

(1) Musumi is a fictional name, for obvious reasons. To understand the kind of company I'm talking about think any giant Japanese car corporation.


	48. Ch 47 No Matter What Forces Might Try

**Chapter Forty Seven – No Matter What Forces Might Try **

_Shizuku - Paris – February 2005 _

Over the winter the Bruxelles trip loomed larger and larger in our planning. This was the big one, the one that would earn our company a _lot_ of money. We had twelve interpreters, only three of whom could speak Japanese, and of those three I was the best. Japan had approached the European Union to renegotiate trade rights across the board. Everything from quotas to tax equality to import duties. The Japanese Trade Minister himself was coming and all his EU counterparts would be there. Top security, big media coverage. Red carpets, the whole razzmatazz. It was potentially a huge deal. Each EU nation was sending a delegation based around their respective trade minister, and the Italian delegation was being supported by us and our interpreters. This really was big, the biggest thing I'd been involved in yet. It would take several weeks, much of February 2005. We just could not afford to screw up. Fees on this one would set us up for the whole of the next financial year. We worked on the planning throughout December and January and at the end of January ten of us went to Belgium, led by our boss, Signore Portoghese.

I would be away from Seiji and our lovely warm bed for twenty nights. This would be hard. Twenty nights was _forever_. That last night before I had to get up very early and get to the airport, was both beautiful and tearful. Of course we spent the night doing what crazy lovers do and I hardly slept at all but in the morning I almost couldn't go. We stood in the doorway hugging and hugging and I couldn't let go of him, I just didn't want to be without his warmth and his voice and his eyes and his smell for twenty nights. We spent so long hugging in the doorway that in the end I left it too late and he came down with me and drove me to the station. So when we got there we had to do the whole tearful goodbye thing again.

My make up was ruined. I had to take it all off and do it again on the train.

All the way to the airport we spoke on the phone. He went back home, got washed and dressed properly, made breakfast, sat on the balcony, walked to work, got in and started his day and all the time the phone was on his shoulder and he was telling me what he was doing. And I was telling him what I was doing. It was mad, we were like two kids again. I had to stop talking at the airport because all my colleagues were there, but I sneaked a quick call before we took off.

-oOo-

The problem was the work was _hard_. I mean orders of magnitude harder than anything I'd done before. The days were long, and the evening meals and other entertainments even longer. Work hard, play hard was the ethic and if you didn't do the hard playing you were branded as someone who didn't fit in. Some days I was dead on my feet but from a professional point of view I had to attend the cocktail parties and receptions. It sounds like fun telling you about it like this but some days I just wanted to crawl into bed at six in the evening and sleep like the dead.

So communication time with Seiji was in short supply. When we did talk it was a snatched couple of minutes in a taxi or during a coffee break. No time to really talk if you know what I mean. And certainly no time for loving. And being away from him I really needed him physically. I missed that a lot. All kinds of forces were working in me to mess me up. To lower my barriers.

The days and weeks flew by. Naz was my partner throughout and we got on well, his Japanese was coming on great and we'd talk in Japanese at the evening meals and parties. And it was during one of these that it happened. I found out that the corruption in Italy's business and monetary and trade system wasn't unique. It was everywhere. The EU was full of it, at all levels people were giving cash in kind or accepting it, or turning a blind eye one day in order to call in a dirty favour the next. Naz told me a lot of things I was just finding out on the periphery for myself, I'd known that wrong things were going on but the depth of the problem hadn't been obvious. I stood there one evening in some beautiful hotel lounge, a cocktail in my hand and realized I was still a stupid sixteen year old child who thought she was aware of what was going on and could write a series of political articles for a local magazine. When in fact I was clueless. The depth and seriousness of the corruption in politics and business that Naz showed me, felt like having a loved one die. It left a deep painful hollow inside me. And the worst self-discovery that night was that when I'd run out of Japan I'd been running away from reality. I'd seen the real world there, couldn't stand up to it and had run away to hide. Only to find that Italy was the same, and the rest of Europe as well. Life is the same everywhere: corrupt politicians, economic hardship and exploitation; fraudulent bureaucrats; organized crime and protection money, liars, cheats, manipulators and deceivers – the world survives on corruption and back handers - this is how people are.

And I hated it. And I hated my inability to face up to it. I felt weak. And stupid.

I took my drink and sat down. The party flowed elegantly around me, men in suits, women looking stylish and refined. Intelligent, pompous, vacuous conversation. How many of them had got where they were today doing a day's honest work? I closed my eyes and asked my mind to show me. When I opened my eyes again I was alone, the room was empty. It was just me. And a barman. But in my mind's eye Naz was there. I realized I knew almost nothing about him, apart from he was 29, single, lived in Pisa and spoke six languages. He had hair like Seiji's. Black and long in a ponytail. I looked at him. Yes, in a way there was a lot in him that was like Seiji, a certain style and wit, a certain impulsiveness, a sparkle in his eye. I took a long sip of my drink and felt terrible.

He and I had a long talk that evening. Unable to come to terms with my discovery I asked him how he coped. His answer was plain and straightforward, the same he'd given me in Naples. Keep out of it. Refuse all entanglements and gifts. Work hard. Be honest with yourself. That was what he did, how he managed to grow even in such circumstances. Just surviving and treading water wasn't enough for him. He'd made a decision some years ago to swim against the tide and achieve his aims in life honestly while those around him achieved theirs dishonestly. At the end they would all have reached their goal, but he would be proud of his journey there. For him that was the important difference. I could appreciate that, it was something to aim for. He was a real inspiration that evening.

-oOo-

The problem was that his job and mine were so deeply involved in areas of industry that were rotten to the core. How could I hold my head up when my monthly salary was paid in dirty money, money my employer had got as fees as a result from working at corrupt negotiations. I went to work each day in Bruxelles and did my job as best as I could. I think I did some of my best work ever those weeks and made sure the reports were all typed up next day. I could see that Portoghese was impressed, Naz too. It was funny, I got no satisfaction from the words of support spoken to me by the man who paid my salary, but when Naz would drop a line of encouragement or slide me a little grin across the table in a meeting, my day got better. Sometimes when he smiled like that with his head to one side and his long hair in his eyes it felt like Seiji smiling at me. It didn't worry me that I made that connection in my mind, I felt like Seiji was there giving me support, and that felt good.

But of course it wasn't good. It was the opposite of good. And my stupid mind that had emptied the hotel lounge of everyone who was bad except me and Naz had forgotten to put Seiji in there. Seiji who should have been the brightest and best person in that empty room. Seiji who should have been, in my mind, closest to me and holding me and leading me on by his warm tender hand. Seiji wasn't even there.

- : - : - : – : - : - : - : - : -

_It's now  
_  
I stand and look up at the great building, floodlit in the night. Built in the 1300s or 1400s and as solid now as ever. A place of continuity and peace. A place you can trust. It's soaring twin bell towers; its spectacular tracery of flying buttresses; from the east end it looks like a Jules Verne space rocket; the beautiful and famous rose window; its Gothic magnificence. A place worthy for me to end my journey. I could end it here. I should end it. It would be easy to end it, but I'm a coward. I stand on the bridge and take in the whole of the place. She's like a beautiful woman. Our Lady. _Notre Dame_. Much as I want to I can't go in, I'm not fit to step over her perfect threshold. Sinners in their millions must have gone there over the centuries and been healed and forgiven. But for what I've done there is no forgiveness. It's not that I need forgiving (although I do), it's that I'm not fit to be forgiven by _him_, for what I've done to him. To _us_. We can never be the same can we my darling? And if we can't be the same can we ever be anything again? Once again, a third time, I take my dead phone from my bag. I turn it on.

_Please God, give me the strength to say what needs to be said_.

I press his number. I hear clicking and connecting. And once again, the third time, my spirit fails me and in a vile wave of self-disgust I turn the phone off. I turn away from that perfect place of redemption and go instead to the Left Bank in search of a hotel where I can hide. And cry.

- : - : - : – : - : - : - : - : -

We had five days to go. Two of the Japanese bean counters had a meeting with the Italian under-secretary for trade about the proposed security on money transfer arrangements. They were particularly keen to focus on measures the Italian government was taking with regard to combating organized crime and money laundering. That meeting was the worst so far for me. I had to sit there and facilitate this conversation between two men, one of whom, the Italian under-secretary, I knew was lying. Lying all the time, all day long. When you are an interpreter, part of the skill is to know the technical language and to pass between the speakers the accuracy of what they are saying. The other skill you need is to add inflexion to pass on the emotion and intent as well. The thinking behind the words. A lot of this comes direct from the voice, face and body language of the speaker so even though the other person doesn't understand the words, the emotion still comes across. However the under-secretary for trade was sitting there telling whopping great lies to these Japanese men and I simply had to pass on what he was saying without adding any inflexion of my own or giving the listener any reason to doubt the truth of what he was being told.

When the conversation finished I excused myself and went out to the ladies toilets and stood for a few minutes looking at my reflection. In a job like this you couldn't help but sometimes be dragged down into the cesspool of deceit.

_hold your head up girl, just keep yourself clean and press on. At least it's not you lying. _

but in a way it was. Lying to myself.

Outside the meeting room was a quiet space, a couple of soft chairs, some cold bottled water, a green plant and a window with a view of the city. I poured myself a glass of water and looked at the view. There were footsteps behind me. Naz was there. A clink of glass on glass as he got himself a drink. He stood next to me.

"We are taking a lunch break. We'll reconvene at three. Anastacia will do the Japanese this afternoon. I think you could use a break."  
"Did I make a mistake?"  
"No. Not one. You did brilliantly. I could hear everything going on there. That was hard wasn't it? Knowing what we discussed last night. I'm proud of you."

_proud _

That was an odd word to use. A boy is proud of his dog when it does tricks. A father proud of his son when he rides his first bike. A man proud of his lover when she sacrifices something of herself for him. Being proud of someone implied a relationship. Office colleagues were not proud of each other. Something was wrong here. And I'm ashamed to admit that what was wrong wasn't him stepping over my line but me not seeing him do it. Alarm bells should have gone off, but they didn't. Or perhaps, I'm even more ashamed to say, they did go off, but I ignored them. It was my fault, not his. He just did what he thought was, in the circumstances, the things I needed. It was I who made it happen, my lack of resistance.

- : - : - : – : - : - : - : - : -

_Again, it's now  
_  
I am here. Kneeling on this carpet, my back against the end of the bed, the foot of the bed. It's an old metal framed bed and its hard base digs into my back. It's uncomfortable. But that is fine. I deserve to feel discomfort. My knees are apart, my bottom resting on the carpet, my ankles tucked back on either side. It's a posture only girls kneel in because of the flexibility of their joints. My hands rest on my legs, palms up and open. Waiting. I stare at the carpet between my knees. It's grubby and the pattern is faded. The whole room is grubby and faded. This cheap room in this cheap Left Bank hotel. The only thing good about this hotel room is I'm alone in it. The last hotel room I spent time in wasn't empty and the person who was with me I wish hadn't been. I go over conversations and incidents of the last two days again and again in my head. Wishing they were made up fantasies. But they're not. They happened. And I feel such guilt and sorrow. I wish none of this had happened. Wishing for some things is good. Wishing when you drop a coin in a fountain is a good thing. Wishing that some things hadn't happened though? That's useless.

- : - : - : – : - : - : - : - : -

"Thanks, appreciate it."

My answer came out of my mouth but not out of my mind. I don't know who said it, or why. My lips did, but why was I even saying things to him when he was my side of my line? I should be telling him to back off with clear words and signals. But I wasn't. Because I realize now, I wanted him on my side. And realizing that is the worst thing of all.

"You've been fantastic these last two weeks. You've worked so hard, every day. You've been a credit to us. So, I'm giving you a little break. Take the afternoon off. Get some rest. I tell you what, it's a nice day, we'll go out and get some fresh air. There's a park across the plaza we can go there and blow away the cobwebs. There's a café there. Let me buy you an ice cream."

_No. He's chatting you up. Don't go._

"Sounds great. Let's get out of here."

As we left the EU building he even guided me with a hand gently on my upper arm, and even that felt fine.

So we went across the square and into the park and past the fountains. It was February in Bruxelles and very cold but the day was sunny and bright and the air was sharp and clear, like walking inside a pure block of ice. I was glad to be out of the office and took deep breaths. We walked and talked, or rather he talked and I listened. He talked about himself, about his college days, his first job, his home, an old pet dog, his family. Was he just trying to detach me from my worries or was he trying to show me that he was a nice person? Whatever he said I didn't hear it, I was just enjoying the moment. I suppose his talk did have some effect, relaxing, amusing, distracting. Disarming. All calculated to break down my barriers further, to lower my resistance. Was he experienced at this, or just lucky? I think he was experienced. I think he was Adamo but with the funny outrageous cute side taken away and a cold calculating scheming side in its place. I think back on it now and can't help but feel he knew exactly what he was doing. He'd been doing it at least since Naples I think, maybe earlier. Maybe way back early last year when he came to me and told me he was learning Japanese. He had patience, I'll grant him that. We sat in the café and he bought us steaming mugs of hot chocolate with marshmallows floating on the top and lovely Belgian ice creams. I spilled some on my hand and reached into my bag for a tissue. I saw my phone. I picked it up, the time on its screen told me it was about a quarter past two. I don't know why I turned it off. Really I don't. I had this odd feeling that I didn't want to be disturbed. I didn't want _us_ to be disturbed. A part of me was telling me the office might phone but another part of me said no, the person most likely to phone is in Italy. Making a violin. And probably talking to a photograph of me right now.

I'm not proud of what happened. I think I've made that quite clear now. I am disgusted with it all. My actions, my thoughts, my lack of will power, my being suckered into Naz's clever plan. What had my dad and I said to each other all those years ago?  
**  
**_a mucky little boy with wandering hands who just wanted to get in my pants from the day he met me_

When I was fifteen I met a boy and knew he had no such intentions. I knew straight away that he was kind, honest and caring, a boy worthy of all my trust. Ten years later another boy had _exactly_ those intentions and this time I didn't see it. What had I learned in ten years? I have no answer for you. Why did I let him do what he did when I had a man who was everything to me? Who was the most gorgeous man in the world? Still, no answer. Please don't ask me, it hurts so much to admit my weakness.

After our little afternoon in the park chatting like new lovers and laughing, we went back to the hotel. Naz checked in with Signore Portoghese for an update. Everything was fine, the afternoon meeting had gone well. A dinner was arranged for that evening, we had all been invited to the Italian under-secretary's hotel for drinks and then cars would take us to one of the finest seafood restaurants in the city. Be ready at eight.

I went back to my room and enjoyed a long soak in the bath. My last hour of true rest. My last time of feeling at ease for a long time, for many weeks. And of course the last hour in my life when I would be truly pure and only _his_. A short moment of stupidity, of fun, of lack of thought, of selfishness. It left such deep, ugly and painful scars. After my bath there was plenty of opportunity to phone him. The phone sat on my bedside. I looked at it and it looked at me. It pleaded with me to call him. But I didn't. And I hate me. I actually enjoyed dressing that evening. I dressed for an evening of enjoyment. Black. Everything in black. A pretty set of underwear I'd bought a month or two back. The suspender belt was more of a waspie, deep and made of satin, it pinched my waist. Stockings with seams, very expensive. And my best little black dress. What a waste, they all went in the rubbish a week or two later. I could no longer bear the sight of them, of the sordid story they told me each time I looked at them.

I'm not going to give you the horrid details. You can guess them, can't you? The evening was fun. I drank too much and he was too close, too attentive. And late in the evening I had to get out of there before I was unable to stand. So he called a cab and took me back. But not to my room. Oh, no, not to my room. But to his. And there came a point where I did finally say no. I said it carefully and firmly at first, I made it clear to him that I'd made a mistake. I kept saying no, louder and in rising panic but he wouldn't stop. I still don't know if I really meant it, or if he thought my 'no' was a part of our game. All I do know is that when it was over there had been a moment, a moment when it was too late for me to stop him, a moment when he was already in me and I was crying. And that moment I had enjoyed. As all the emotions burst in me and I realized what I'd done, what I had so stupidly thrown away, even at that very moment I felt something else. It was pleasure. There was pleasure as another man came inside me and did what only Seiji or my own fingers had ever done, this man did it. The noise I made was the same noise I made on the roof of the _Via Versecchi_.

And that's what I hate the most. How much do I hate it? More than I can say.

Was it rape? I don't know. A hopeful part thinks it was. But a black guilty part of me thinks it wasn't. How could it be, the noise I made, the pleasure that burned me? And of course the fact that afterwards when he left me empty, instead of running crying out the door, I tuned on my side, folded into a ball and stayed there. In his bed. Crying, yes, but not leaving. And he put his arms around me and held me as I cried. And then I slept.

But I didn't rest. Even in my dreams I cried. I ran and ran after someone, a faint shadow always moving ahead of me, I couldn't reach him. He was playing a violin and hating me because I was no longer clean. And in my dream I fell down and wept as a shadow that was pursuing me came over me and hands were upon me and a voice said "again".

Which is why, when it was light and I awoke, and lifted his sleeping arm off me, I dressed hurriedly and fled.

- : - : - : – : - : - : - : - : -

_And for the last time, it's now _

I reach for the phone. If I don't call him, I'll die here, I know I will. Die of a broken heart. Die of sorrow, of shame, of hopeless burning guilt. So I reach out to the only one who can help me. I turn on the phone and press his number. This time it rings. Too late to close the call, he'll see it was my phone that called. Then his voice. He seemed to already be half way into a conversation. There was no greeting:

"I love you so very much. Tell me where you are and I will be there as fast as I can."

_Why does he speak like that? How does he know? _

I can't speak. I cough and the dry sobbing begins again.

"Shizuku. I'm so much in love with you I'll die if you don't tell me where you are. Give me a street name. A hotel name. A room number. I know where you are. Paris. Near _Notre Dame_. I'm less than twenty minutes from you. Tell me and I will come."

_In Paris? How? He's in Cremona isn't he? Talking to a stupid photograph and cooking rice and ramen? He makes no sense. _

_And then I remember: "He is love. And he is coming." _

"Calm down and keep with me. Don't close this call. I'll die if you close this call. Say a number, a room number."

And I say it. From somewhere a voice tells me to. Because love is everything we have. And without love... We are nothing. Without his love. I am nothing.

"Twenty Two."  
"Good girl. That's great. You're doing great. The hotel name. I need the hotel where you are."

I sit and rack my brains. The sobbing goes on. It's loud and it stops me thinking. But I remember. Yes, there it is. A garden.

"_Jardins des Fleurs_. By a garden. By the river."  
"You're such a lovely clever girl. Good. Now a street name?"  
"I don't know. I think this square is called _Jardins des Fleurs_. I'm not sure. Or _Rue Cuvier_."  
"In that case I'll find it. Half an hour. Don't move, don't go anywhere. Don't answer the door even. Do you hear me?"  
"Yes."  
"Are you alone?"  
"Not any more Seiji."

On the other end of the phone line his voice breaks. I've never been so happy to hear him cry.

"Shizuku?"  
"Yes."  
"I love you more than you can possibly know."

I burst into tears and let the phone fall. I hear him talking faintly as it lies between my knees, the line stays open for thirty eight minutes as he comes to me. How was he here? It was magic. Or maybe God had willed it.

"He is love. And he is coming."  
"Thank you. I'm sorry I didn't believe in you before."  
"There is a reason. There is purpose in all things. This is why it happened."

My heart listened to the voice inside me, the voice I'd heard only three times in my life before but which was so familiar to me. Was that why this had happened? My mind was in turmoil. Because this time I couldn't agree with the voice.

- : - : - : – : - : - : - : - : -

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

5 February 2007, 21:20 – 21:50  
6 February 2007, 08:30 – 09:30 and 18:10 – 19:25 and 23:05 – 00:02 on the 7th  
(minor tweaks 7 February 2007, 08:20)

Thursday 8 Feb and I just made a few small changes. Quite subtle but I wasn't happy with how this ended and I added a small item that will link to something later on.

For author notes about chapter 47 please see my forum (click on my pen name)


	49. Ch 48 Waiting: The Third Time

**Chapter Forty Eight – Waiting: The Third Time **

In the morning he tried her number again. Still switched off.

As the day went on he tried her number every hour. Nothing.

An inevitable and horrible darkness began to fill him. He played the broken records of scenarios over and over in his head. An accident. But no, she had her passport with her, a hospital or the police would have called him. If it wasn't an accident then – what? Then the two words he thought he would never, ever think while thinking about her came into his head.

_Another man.  
_  
But she wouldn't. Never. Not her.

He tried to think logically, but couldn't. Then he thought back years to that conversation in a car on the journey between Hannover and Berlin.

_Seiji, oh, my darling, you do know I wouldn't say yes? Come on, of course I wouldn't! That would be a disaster for us. How could I? _

He considered those words. He recalled her face. How she'd looked when she'd said them. It hurt to think of her face. But he still believed her. Believed absolutely. She would never say yes to another man.

Therefore… what?

And that left only an even more vile and revolting image in his mind. The R word. Rape. She had been assaulted somewhere. In Bruxelles where she was working with the Italian EU delegation. Abducted. Raped. It would be easy to give up at this point and collapse inwards into panic or helpless indecision. But a small corner of his mind told him that would serve no purpose. She needed him, he could feel it. He convinced himself that part of this pain was her, was her calling out in her need to him. He had to contact her. Make some phone calls.

Getting up from his workbench he went over to the coffee pot by the sink. He grabbed a paper towel and taking his soft work pencil from behind his ear Seiji began to scribble. The list looked like this:

_hospitals  
police - Italian or Belgian?  
hotel  
call office  
boss?_

He decided to work up from the bottom. He had her boss's number but it was at the apartment, pinned to the cork board beside the fridge, along with her itinerary in Bruxelles. The office was next. Her desk number in the office in Pisa was in his phone's memory so he rang that. Her colleagues there knew nothing, the Japanese trade talks team in Bruxelles was working fine, no problems had been reported. That was good. If one of the team had been involved in an accident or an incident the head office would have been alerted. They gave him the number of the hotel in Bruxelles where their team was staying, and her boss's mobile number.

He rang that next. His Italian was flawless now:

"Hello, is that Signore Portoghese?"  
"Yes, who is this?"  
"Seiji Amasawa, I'm Shizuku's husband."  
"Signore Amasawa! How can I help you?"  
"I'm calling about my wife. I have been trying to call her mobile number since yesterday afternoon but I cannot get through. Is she with you please?"  
"No, she is not. She isn't in our meeting today. According to one of my colleagues she wasn't feeling well this morning. I understand she stayed in the hotel."  
"Oh, I see. When did you last see her please?"  
"Yesterday evening. We all went for a meal after work and she left at about eleven."  
"Thank you. Was she alright when she left?"  
"Well, we did all have quite a lot to drink last night. Look, Signore Amasawa, I'm sorry to be rude but I am in a meeting. Can I call you back?"  
"Signore Portoghese, I am sorry but can I just take a few more moments of your time please, this is important."  
"I see. I can give you one more minute."  
"Did she leave alone after the meal last night?"  
"No, Naz took her back to the hotel in a taxi."

_keep your thumb over the neck of the bottle  
_  
"Naz?"  
"Signore Fuorvi, Nazario Fuorvi. Another of our interpreters. He is here in the meeting but very busy. Shall I get him to call you?"  
"Yes please, as soon as you can."

Seiji gave his number. If Naz had done wrong he knew he wouldn't call. He wouldn't have the balls. And if he had Seiji would go round there and rip them off and make him eat them. Whoever he was, Seiji hated this Signore Fuorvi already. He closed the call.

"Amasawa?"

He turned. Signore Guarnieri was behind him.

"Is there a problem?"  
"I don't know. It's Shizuku, she's away on business in Belgium and won't answer her phone. I've been trying to contact her for almost a day now."  
"There is a lot of work to do. The violins don't make themselves."  
"Signore, I understand. But _you_ know Shizuku a little. She never fails to contact me every day. I am worried something may have happened to her."  
"Might this wait until later Amasawa?"

Suddenly Seiji, amazed at the man's insensitivity and knowing at once which was more important said,

"No, Signore. It won't. I need to deal with this now. I am sorry but the violins will have to wait."  
"I see…"  
"Sir, please forgive me, but my wife is much more important. I am going to take some time to make some phone calls."

Signore Guarnieri folded his arms and stood implacably watching Seiji as he went to his workbench, picked up his jacket and left the workshop.

Seiji stood outside the violin school, under the colonnade. There was a red colour in his vision. _How dare he?_ Clearly a man who had never married, perhaps had never loved. In front of him was the cobbled sloping courtyard, the stone horse trough where years ago they would meet in the morning and hug, the Hotel Alfonso was beyond. In there, upstairs under the eaves of the roof was a curious little attic room. And it was there that they had… that she had first touched him… where he had once looked on her naked for the first time and had never seen anything so beautiful… He closed his eyes. He couldn't bear to think about it. He turned up the alley and walked home. As he walked he called the hotel in Bruxelles.

"Scandic Grande-Place, bonjour."  
"Bonjour, parlez-vous Anglais, sil vouz plais?"  
"Of course, sir, how can we help?"  
"Can you put me through to room 603 please. Mrs. Amasawa?"

There was a pause. The young man came back a little less efficiently now.

"Sir, Mrs. Amasawa checked out this morning."

Seiji stopped walking. He was in the middle of a road and a motorcyclist hooted him, swerved around him. The rider looked back and shook a fist. Seiji stood in the middle of the road, traffic passing him on both sides.

"What? What do you mean checked out?"  
"Checked out sir, left the hotel."  
"But Mrs. Amasawa is staying with the Italian EU delegation. At the trade talks with Japan. Her party is there until the end of the month."  
"Sir, yes, may I ask who I am speaking to?"  
"I am Mr. Amasawa and I need you to tell me all you can about my wife leaving the hotel. When?"  
"Sir, I'm sorry I didn't know you were the lady's husband. Yes, about ten o'clock this morning."  
"Was she alright? Did she say anything?"  
"I'm very sorry sir, but I wasn't on duty this morning. I can see from our system that the guest in room 603 checked out at ten o'clock this morning but the morning staff are all off duty now."  
"Is there anyone I can speak to who was on duty at the time. A manager perhaps?"  
"Yes, sir. One moment please."

He was put on hold. Canned music came down the line at him. _Vivaldi. Four seasons. Spring. No.1 Allegro_. The music he had chosen as they had walked back down the aisle as husband and wife. Seiji suddenly hated this music. Looking around himself, realising suddenly that he was in a road, he walked the few paces to the kerb.

"Yes, sir, how can I help?"

Seiji went through the story again. The reception manager was also changed three times a day and while she was sympathetic she too was unable to give any more information about the actual check out from 603 other than the fact it had happened at ten that morning and the bill was signed S. Amasawa. Seiji asked the manager to log a suspicious incident in the hotel records. He wanted the manager who was on duty this morning to be called immediately and to contact him to advise what was known about the behaviour of the female guest who had checked out of 603. Was she alone or accompanied? Did she seem to be under any duress? Seiji also asked for the room cleaning staff to be interviewed in case they had noticed anything unusual in the room. The manager said that their hotel chain dealt with all complaints seriously and she would get a security director to call him back as soon as they had information for him. Finally Seiji asked the manager if she would give him the phone number of the Belgian police.

Seiji found he was still standing at the kerbside. He had recrossed the road to the side he had started on. He crossed the road again and headed home.

_hospitals  
police  
hotel  
call office  
boss_

He was most of the way through the list. He called the Belgian police. This was mindlessly frustrating. He was passed around half a dozen departments until he got through to missing persons. He knew no Flemish and little French and few people seemed to speak good English. He spoke to a man who sounded bored out of his mind, and after a few minutes the bored Belgian police officer advised Seiji that a missing persons case could not be logged until 24 hours had lapsed since the last contact. Seiji raised his voice.

"Well let's keep talking because in forty minutes, your 24 hours will have expired. The person concerned always has her telephone on and always calls me at least once a day. The fact that she has not is highly suspicious and her work colleagues have not seen her since eleven o'clock yesterday evening."  
"I am very sorry sir, but if the person was last seen at eleven yesterday I cannot log a file until eleven tonight."  
"This is madness! The person could have been abducted and raped."  
"I am very sorry sir…"  
"I don't want to hear how sorry you are, you're a lot less sorry than I am. Put me through at once to your superior officer."

Grudgingly, bored Belgian cop did so. The detective Seiji spoke to next was more responsive; at least he didn't sound like he was flicking through the jobs pages of the paper during their conversation. Seiji finally began to get somewhere, especially once he mentioned that the missing person was an interpreter from the Italian EU delegation that was attending the talks with the Japanese Trade Minister. Seiji had no idea that saying that would have any effect but it did. Belgium, and Bruxelles especially, was very proud of hosting the European Union Parliament and as soon as it became clear that an incident had occurred with a member of an EU delegation everything changed. The Belgian detective asked Seiji for information of Shizuku's telephone network provider and her credit cards, her passport details (which Seiji didn't have but could get from home) and a full description. Seiji told him where she had been staying and suggested the police could check the internet and telephone traffic from room 603. The detective sounded ruffled and advised Seiji that he knew his job. When the call ended the detective instructed Seiji to stay available and keep his phone with him. He would be contacted again as soon as more information was available.

Seiji got home. All around the apartment were ghosts of her, reminders, clothing. He sat on the bed. One of her skirts hung on a hanger on the wardrobe door. He reached for it, crumpled the garment in his hands, put his head in the soft, sweet smelling cloth and cried.

It took thirty minutes for the crying to ease. Then he called her again.

Hope, there was always hope. Without hope there was nothing.

Her phone was turned off.

He walked around the apartment, and thought horrible black thoughts. He had no idea what he did that evening. He wandered around the apartment for an hour, for two, then, although he had no memory of it, he must have gone out because when his phone rang it was dark and he was stood by the unicorn and cherub fountain in the _Piazza San Giorgio_.

"Amasawa."  
"Monsieur Amasawa, this is Detective Inspector Olieslagers of the Belgian police. I have some information for you that you may find helpful."

Seiji glanced at his watch. He was shocked to see that it was half past one in the morning. He had no coat on, and it was February, yet he wasn't cold.

"Yes, inspector, go on."  
"First the Scandic Hotel. Staff advise that your wife left the hotel at 10:05 yesterday morning, the 19th. She was alone and had her luggage with her. She seemed to be in low spirits and a little confused. The staff say that usually she was very smartly presented but when she left the clerk there described her as "a mess". By this he meant no make up and her hair unbrushed. He described her as "looking like she'd dressed in a hurry without much care about her appearance." She was reported to be wearing a white blouse and a black suit with black stockings, black shoes, no coat.  
The room cleaning staff found a number of personal possessions in the room. Toiletries mostly but also one blouse, a ladies topcoat, a pair of earrings and some underwear. The staff think the room was vacated in a hurry and that seems to tie in with what the check out clerk observed. In case you were worried, one of my officers visited the room and spoke to the staff. There seems to be no evidence of violence of any kind, however the bed had not been slept in.  
Second, the credit card company advise that her card has been used three times in the last twenty four hours. Once at 09:59 on the 19th to pay the hotel bill. Once in the Grand Place in Brussels about ten minutes later to withdraw 100 Euros and once at the _Gare du Midi_ at 10:24 to purchase a single ordinary fare ticket to Paris _Gare du Nord_."  
"_What?_"  
"Sir, your wife's credit card was used to buy a train ticket to Paris – a single, not a return. Having walked over the ground from the hotel to the station and checked the timings, it seems likely that the card was used by the same person for each transaction, if they walked fast. Given that we know the card was certainly used by your wife to pay the hotel bill we can surmise that it was she who bought the train ticket."

_Paris? Why's she going to Paris?  
_  
"And she was alone?"  
"According to the hotel clerk, yes."  
"And uninjured?"  
"I cannot say she was uninjured although the hotel staff's comments indicate she wasn't, she was just not as well presented as usual. As the walk to the station would require a fast pace, I conclude that she wasn't significantly hurt in any way. There was no blood in her room."

The Belgian paused.

"Finally, the telephone service provider. Since two fourteen on the afternoon of the 18th her telephone has been switched off: not responding to regular cell pings. However it has been switched on three times since then and a number dialled each time. The same number. We know whose number that is."

The Belgian policeman gave the number. Seiji felt the blood draining from his face. It was his mobile number. She had been calling him.

"The telephone was apparently switched on, the number dialled and a connection opened but before the receiving phone rang the call was shut off. This happened at 10:33, 13:12 and 20:47 on the 19th, yesterday. The telephone company have advised that the calls were made from a cell just south of the _Gare du Midi_ in Bruxelles, a cell near the _Gare du Nord_ in Paris and finally from a cell on the Left Bank near _Notre Dame_ cathedral. The timing of the first two calls fits with the 10:31 Z121 train from Bruxelles to Paris, which arrived at the _Gare du Nord_ at 13:06 yesterday."

She had phoned him. Three times. And closed the call before his phone rang. Why?

_Shizuku, talk to me. What are you doing? What are you thinking? Where are you?  
_  
"This is reassuring. If your number was called after the phone was manually switched on and shut down again after your number was dialled three times that leads me to think it has not been stolen, nor has the credit card. I don't wish to belittle the situation, sir, but it does at least appear the lady is not in danger, has not been abducted. But she might be confused, she might be unwell. At our request the credit card provider has put a stop on the card. The person who used your wife's phone near _Notre Dame_, if they are using her credit card as well, cannot use it again. I will advise you if the credit card company gives me an update. The phone usage is interesting and the telephone provider has agreed to allow unlimited calls from that cell phone for the time being. Hello? Are you there sir?"  
"Yes, still here."

Seiji's head was spinning.

"Inspector, her clothing in the hotel room. Have you been able to find out if… if she…"

His words stopped, They wouldn't come out.

"Sir, all the possessions from the room are now with our forensics team. We conduct standard checks on all items in these cases. We will be checking the clothing for evidence of blood, sexual activity and any traces of hair, fibres and so on. It's standard procedure."

_sexual activity  
_  
_you bastard. If you touched her you're a dead man.  
_  
"What's your conclusion?"  
"To me it looks like she did not sleep in her room on the night of the 18th, but she entered the room at some time before ten o'clock on the morning of Friday the 19th, packed her bags in a hurry and left. She then took cash from a nearby ATM and caught a train to Paris. It would seem her last known location is near _Notre Dame_ just before nine o'clock yesterday evening. There is no evidence of foul play or injury although her actions do seem to be those of a confused person."

Five hours ago. Paris. He had to go there. She was there somewhere. He had to go to her.

"Inspector, thank you, you've been very helpful. Is there anything you need from me?"  
"No, sir I just need you to stay by your phone so I can contact you again. You asked to be contacted by the Scandic Hotel security director? Well, we have taken on responsibility for that. Our officers are working with the Paris police to begin checks on hotels in the _Notre Dame_ area, she may book in one of those. Until she uses her credit card or phone again, or is identified, we cannot do more just now. We have circulated the photograph on her passport to the Paris police. It was fortunate that security procedure at that hotel chain is to scan the image page of all guests passports. The French police have also circulated her image and description to all airports, ports and railway stations. Unless she walks or gets a lift in a private car she should not be able to travel far without being identified."  
"Again, thank you. I'll wait for your next call."

Seiji shut off his phone. Like hell he'd wait. He checked his pockets. He had his credit card and a small amount of cash, but he needed his passport. He began walking back to the apartment, on the way he called a taxi company to send a car to his home in the next ten minutes. He told the taxi company he needed to be taken to Milan Malpensa airport. The girl at the taxi company warned him that it was almost two in the morning and that it was a two hour drive, she quoted him a price which was outrageously expensive. As he walked Seiji gave his credit card number. Quite frankly he didn't give a shit how much this cost, he'd happily pawn number 1 or number 11 to get to Paris and find her. After he reached the apartment he had a moment to grab his passport, his phone charger, and a coat. He stuffed a bottle of milk and a sandwich in his pocket and looked up the number of the flight booking desk at Milan. As he went out to the waiting taxi he was already booking a seat on the 06:00 Al Italia flight to Paris _Charles de Gaulle_. More money they couldn't afford to spend. _Fuck the money_, was his response.

The waiting was over, he was on his way. He held only two thoughts in his head. _Where is she?_ and _where is that fucker Naz who hasn't returned my call?_

She'd left the restaurant with him at eleven in the evening and he didn't take her back to her room. She'd drunk too much. It was obvious he'd taken her to his room and assaulted her. In the morning she'd awoken, gone to her room and left the hotel in a hurry.

_So why Paris?  
_  
And what of Signore Guarnieri? Well if that was his attitude, at a time like this, then he could shove his fucking violins. That was a problem to be resolved later.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

19 - 20 January 2007  
(minor tweaks 25 January and 7 February 2007)

For author notes about chapter 48 please see my forum (click on my pen name)


	50. Ch 49 Meeting Him Again

**Chapter Forty Nine – Meeting Him Again **

_Shizuku - Paris – February 2005_

I hate myself. I'm no longer clean. I made a promise. When we were married, I took an oath to forsake all others. I am defiled by another man. I am dirty, broken. I'm on a bridge over the Seine. _Notre Dame_ is close by. I look at it, its beautiful shape, a building where I could be saved if I chose to go there. I choose not to. I look down at the brown water. It flows sluggishly. Why did I come here? I tell myself I don't know, but I do.

A decision has to be made.

I hardly slept last night. I found a hotel and locked the door of my room. I threw down my bag and fell on the bed. I didn't get in, I didn't undress. I don't remember sleeping, I remember only lying there in the dark with my dark heart for company. Dark gloating voices telling me what I'd done and my crushed heart admitting they were right. But that must have stopped eventually and I must have slept because when I next opened my eyes it was light. I'd not drawn the curtains. I still had my clothes on.

Without washing, without breakfast I came out here. And here I stand, on one hand is the cathedral, a place where I know He is and where it can all be ended with peace and redemption. On the other hand is the brown water. Again a place where the other, the dark _he_ is and where it can also be ended. Which is my destination? Which shall I choose? Which do I deserve?

_I don't deserve you.  
_  
Words I had heard him speak while cherry blossom fell around his face. What is this we go through? What is it we do to ourselves and why do we do it? We do things that at the time seem right but even as we do them we know they are wrong, and will hurt us and hurt others. Yet still we do them, we put ourselves through a fire of experience. Again, no answer comes. I don't have answers any more.

But what do we deserve? Did Kinu ask herself such questions? Again, no answer, but I'm sure her actions show me what answer she found. There was once a time when I didn't understand how Kinu had come to her decision, why she had done what she had done. But looking now at this brown swirling water, and feeling like this, wrapped in a blanket of darkness and hopelessness, I begin to understand the forces that drive people even to _that_.

_Kinu, I understand. Please forgive me my ignorance back then. I'd just not gone to the places you had.  
_  
And it is _that _which I contemplate now. It would take little effort, only a few muscles to climb up on the parapet of the bridge. Only a little willpower to lean forward. And then gravity does the rest. Yes, easy. I can see now how Kinu could have done it. It's a small thing and takes no real effort. The only real thing to consider is to break your attachments to the world. To let it go and not worry. Worry about the people you're leaving behind. But there is a part of me still attached to them.

- : - : - : – : - : - : - : - : -

I'm in a hotel bathroom. I'm fifteen. I'm naked and no boy has ever been with me. I'm nervous and shaking. I think about my mother and my father and I close my eyes and with all my heart I reach out my love to them so many thousands of miles away. I speak my mother's name and give her my thanks. And then I turn and go out to give myself to him.

- : - : - : – : - : - : - : - : -

And again. The brown water below me.

And again. Attachments.

- : - : - : – : - : - : - : - : -

I'm standing at the top of a wide staircase. I'm dressed in a cream gown that is beautiful and goes on for ever. I begin to walk down, slowly, carefully. As I descend there is someone waiting at the bottom. He wears a cream suit and has a purple flower in his buttonhole. He turns his head and looks up at me, but before he looks, before his head turns, I see the back of his head and there is a part of his hair that won't lay flat and it sticks out at an angle. My favourite part of his hair. How I love that stubborn hair. How many times have I run my fingers through it trying to smooth it? A thousand times, each time a moment of pleasure and connection. Each time a demonstration of love.

I reach the bottom of the stairs and he speaks to me. And I know that then, that day with him, my life was only just beginning.

- : - : - : – : - : - : - : - : -

These are the attachments I cannot break. These are the things Kinu didn't have. Kinu had only a hopeless ache inside her that had twisted her and scarred her for years. It was easier for her to break what attachments she had, to use those muscles, to apply her will and to let gravity do what it does best.

I cannot.

But nor can I leave this bridge, and walk to the cathedral. There is still something here for me, by this freezing brown water.

-oOo-

It happens again. I know it's again because I have experienced this before. Three times my mind, my imagination have done this to me and now it's happening again. A fourth time and the last time I'll experience it. I'm on the bridge but instead of a dull cold February morning it is evening, and it is a long time ago. And it is summer. Warm and fragrant, I can smell the flowers from the nearby gardens, the sooty stink from barges on the river, their coal engines chugging, the raw stench of horse manure from all the road traffic. I am reassured that this time is not as traumatic as last time. The time in the ruins when I thought I was speaking to a dead Jew. This time is like the first time. Again, a bridge and barges on the water and again a slowing and a stopping of time. My muscles freeze because to move them time needs to be flowing and here time doesn't flow. But my spirit flows and with my spirit I experience this bridge on a summers evening a hundred years ago. Horses and carriages clatter by, the steel tyres of their wheels grinding on the cobbles. A newspaper seller stands nearby shouting something in French that I don't understand. The headlines of his evening paper shout in French too. I can't read that either. Gas lamps line the bridge, their warm sputtering lights make a fairy tale coziness of a city soon once again to experience war. Along the pavements people stroll, gentlemen out with their wives and lady friends. Eager bank clerks in cheap suits with young smiling girls on their arms. Workmen in worn clothes off to their night shifts on the railways or the factories or the omnibuses. Groups of young men out for the evening, in search of drink, girls and fun. Young men soon to die in the mud of Verdun. I stand and watch them all pass. I stand and watch time stand still. Change the traffic, change the clothes, change the gas lights and this could be Paris today. It could be Tokyo even, or Bruxelles, or Cremona, people don't change. Their wants and needs never change. Money, friendship, love. This is what people want and need, what they have always wanted. I expect I could stand here in a hundred years time and people would still have these priorities in their lives.

Why is my mind showing me this vision today? Is it telling me something? People have always needed friendship and love. They do today, they will in a hundred years time. That was what he wanted, Naz was a part of this mass compulsion wasn't he? Is that why I did what I did? Because I was lonely, and in my loneliness I was made vulnerable by circumstances, by my discoveries about the world around me and how people behaved. Is that why I did it? It doesn't seem very convincing to me but my spirit can't see anything else in the situation. At least not yet. It's too raw, too soon. Perhaps with time I'll understand.

The vision is changing and fading and I'm losing the connection. I'm confused. In Milan and Venice I was shown things that let me write stories. In Germany I saw something that showed me a possible moment of time in a person's life. I still haven't understood that event yet. So as this vision fades and I'm left thinking about love and how it always goes on because people need it, I wonder is this why I see these things? To make me understand the world around me better? The smell of horse manure and flowers fades; the sound of tyres grinding on stone and that evenings shouted headlines fades. The gas lamps fade.

And it is morning. And I'm cold. I left my coat in Bruxelles. _Baka_ Shizuku, it was an expensive coat.

-oOo-

I feel better. I feel for the first time in twenty four hours like not killing myself. I feel a part of the city I'm in. Cars pass on the bridge and a woman walks past me, she looks at me suspiciously. I must look a mess. No coat, no make up, hair all over the place, eyes red, tear tracks down my face. But then Paris is the city of lovers, and of love lost. It must have seen ten million, a hundred million young women cry in the mornings.

"Go to the hotel."

The voice again, my voice. My friend. Him. Now I no longer doubt Him, no longer mistrust. I merely accept.

"Yes."

I turn away from the brown water and begin walking. Not toward _Notre Dame_ but to the Left Bank. A thought comes to me,

"Thank you for coming."  
"I didn't come. Coming implies I was away."  
"You weren't away?"  
"I'm never away. You know I'm never away."  
"I forgot."  
"He is coming."

The voice stops me dead in my tracks. I'm part way off the bridge and I'd heard it speak those words before. Exactly those words and in exactly that tone. Calm, certain, assured, caring. If the voice said he was coming then I knew it to be true. He was. Seiji was coming. How is Seiji coming here? How can he know? I turn around, already looking for him. The woman who'd looked at me is at the far end of the bridge now, coming toward me are two men in suits. A group of school children. No one else in sight. I feel silly, looking for ghosts, listening to voices in my head.

"Where?"  
"Go to the hotel. He is love. And he is coming."

My heart is breaking all over again. Could Seiji really be coming here? How could that possibly be true? He thinks I'm in Bruxelles. I ask Him more questions but He doesn't answer. But as I walk I feel Him walking beside me. Because I'm cold I have tucked my hands up into the opposite sleeves of my suit jacket. It's a well cut suit and has no pockets. So I have no other way to keep my hands warm. I take my hands out and let them fall by my sides. And suddenly they are warm, as though someone is holding them. When a person walks beside you and holds your hand only one hand becomes warm. But now both of my hands are warm. No, not just warm, but hot, like plunging them into bath water after you've been out playing in the snow all morning. The surface of my skin actually tingles in just that way. I feel Him beside me, holding both my hands.

All the way to the hotel I simply say _thank you_ over and over again.

A decision has been made. I will live. But what sort of life will we have? What will he say?

-oOo-

In the hotel room I sit on the end of the bed. I stay still for hours, thinking. Turning over in my mind a conversation that is yet to take place. Because of what I let him do to me, and because of the things he did to me when I was saying 'no', my body has become changed. I can't just face Seiji and let things be as they were. First I must be punished, then redeemed. In Bruxelles, in that bed with him, he hit me. Three times. And then he made my cry out in pleasure, again three times. So each of those must be atoned for. I'm determined it must be this way. It's the way I'm thinking. I've sinned and I must be forgiven.

I slide down off the bed and kneel on the floor, I open my knees and rest my bottom on the carpet. I reach for the phone. If I don't call him, I'll die here, I know I will. Die of a broken heart. Die of sorrow, of shame, of hopeless burning guilt. So I reach out to the only one who can help me. I turn on the phone and press his number. After the shock of hearing that he is only twenty minutes away, I let the phone fall to the carpet between my knees. I can still hear him talking as he comes to me. I can't speak and falling onto the carpet around the phone are my tears. I lay my hands on my legs and turn the palms upwards. And there I sit. And wait. Because he is love. And he is coming. And by now I completely trust the voice that told me.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

7 February 2007, 07:55 – 09:20 and 11:30 – 12:37

For author notes about chapter 49 please see my forum (click on my pen name)


	51. Ch 50 Thrice Punished, Thrice Purified

**Chapter Fifty – Thrice Punished, Thrice Purified  
**

_Paris – February 2005 _

_Shizuku_

I had knelt there for hours. My body ached, my joints were stiff. A strange sound effect came. I was hearing his voice from the phone on the floor, faintly. And also faintly from outside the room, a peculiar stereo effect. He was in two places at once. There were footsteps and a knock on the door. My heart leaped but I didn't move. The door handle rattled. It wasn't locked and he opened it. The doorway was near the head of the bed. I was knelt at the foot of the bed facing away. But in front of me was the wardrobe with its mirrored doors. I lifted my head and saw the most wonderful thing I have ever seen. He stood in the doorway, he looked in the room, saw me and came to me.

I still couldn't move. He lifted me up as though I weighed nothing, his arms came around me and then I was home and the crying started again.

-oOo-

_Seiji _

I'd been walking the streets of the Left Bank near _Notre Dame_ all morning. I had got a taxi here from _Charles de Gaulle_ at around nine. I got out in the huge plaza in front of the cathedral. And then I was stuck. I had no idea where to go. I felt sure she was near, within a mile or two of me but I had no idea exactly where. All I could do was wait for the police to call me with more information. But there was something I could do. A small pinprick of a chance it might seem but it was better to be walking and doing something than sitting in a café waiting.

I went first into the cathedral and looked around. I just looked, I don't know why. It was a big prominent impressive building and it seemed a good idea to look in it while I was here. She wasn't there. So I began walking. I went across the river and along the old quaysides: _Quai des Grands-Augustins; Quai Saint-Michel; Quai de Montebello. _I went in every hotel I saw and showed her photo at the reception desks. My French was useless but after a few broken conversations I learned how to ask _Has this lady checked in? She would have come last night._

"Cette dame a t'elle signé? Elle aurait la nuit passée venue."  
"Non, monsieur, non. Je suis désolé."

Over and over, hotel after hotel. I never stopped, I never once considered how hopeless this was. I began working through the streets behind the quaysides.

My feet became sore, but not as sore as my heart. And not as sore as Naz's balls would be when I met him.

At just after two in the afternoon my phone rang. It was in my hand, I'd not put it in my pocket since the plane had landed. I flipped it open. At first I didn't understand. My own number was calling me. Then I saw that the last digit wasn't a 'one' but a 'zero'. It was her.

_Don't hang up. Don't you hang up on me this time. _

"I love you so very much. Tell me where you are and I will be there as fast as I can."

There was no response. At first I thought the connection had dropped. Then there was a funny sharp noise, like a small dog barking. More noises. And I realized it was her. She was crying.

"Shizuku. I'm so much in love with you. I'll die if you don't tell me where you are. Give me a street name. A hotel name. A room number. I know where you are. Paris. Near _Notre Dame_. I'm less than twenty minutes from you. Tell me and I will come."

And that was how I found her. I went into a café and asked, in my pigeon French for directions. _Rue Cuvier._ It was a fair walk, back towards the river and east to the park called _Jardins des Plantes. _She had said _Fleurs_, a mistake. I'd forgive her that small mistake. As I walked I kept speaking, just talking about anything. Describing the streets I walked along was good enough. She didn't speak at all but I could hear her crying. It was the most wonderful sound I'd ever heard. I was just thankful she was alive.

I found the hotel, went straight past reception and up the stairs two at a time. Second floor. It wasn't a very nice hotel. Musty and tired looking. I counted door numbers. And then I was there. I knocked but got no answer. I tried the handle and it was unlocked. What would I find behind this door? Drawing a breath to calm myself I went in.

It was a small room, old furniture, cheap and worn. Her suitcase was beyond the bed, unopened, the bed covers crumpled but the bed didn't look slept in.

And she was there. Knelt at the foot of the bed. In her black suit. Her head was lowered, looking at the floor. I loved the colour of her hair. She slowly lifted her head and in the mirror on the wardrobe door in front of her I saw her reflected face. Pale, grey and drawn, her eyes red and puffy, her mouth a thin pale line, unbrushed hair hung over her eyes. She looked awful. Even so, she was more beautiful than I ever thought possible.

I went to her, lifted her and held her. I can't describe the relief I felt. To find her alive, unhurt and alone. I held her so hard I must have hurt her, but she made no complaint, she just continued to cry. She cried and cried and I could get nothing out of her. I sat her down on the bed and held her while her small body shook. Her hands were held in front of her knotted on her chest. I pulled them apart and placed them round me and she held me tight. I hugged her back. I lay her back on the bed and we lay on our sides facing each other and she continued to weep. I was so full of questions but I could ask them later. It was clear she couldn't answer them now. For now I let her cry. I stroked her tangled hair.

"It's alright. It's alright now. You can let it out. Let it all out now, Shizuku. Come on, get rid of it. I'm here. Everything will be alright. It's over."

And at that a new wave of crying raged through her and she pressed harder against me.

"Don't go. Please don't leave. Don't you ever leave me. No matter how horrible I am."  
"Shush, don't be silly. I won't go. Ever. I promise. No matter what."  
"I'm so sorry."  
"Shush now."

I got nothing out of her at all that afternoon. She lay in my arms until the winter dusk drew down and the light faded. Dark came and she became quiet, the ragged little sobs and sniffles slowed until they stopped altogether. Her breathing slowed and became gentle and regular and deep. She slept and I lay there and held her. I was so glad to just be with her again, to smell her special scent, see her sweet eyes and feel her soft warmth. As the evening went on I moved out of her embrace and used my phone.

I telephoned the Belgian policeman, Olieslagers. I got through to him after a while and told him I had located my wife in a Left Bank hotel. At first he was surprised that I'd flown to France but I convinced him that was normal for me. He was cautious and asked if I had actually met her, or only 'located' her. Such a stickler for correct language. A true policeman. I said I had met her and that she was apparently unharmed although very upset. He asked if she had been abducted and I realized I didn't know. But I could tell him that she had been alone when I found her. He asked me if I needed an ambulance and I said no, I didn't think so. He asked me to call again when I had more information. He said he had work to do. No doubt he had the job now of calling off the search that had been put in motion to find Shizuku. I felt a pang of guilt over that.

Making sure she was deeply asleep, I slipped out of the room to a shop, bought some bottled water and some snacks and returned. Lifting her gently I slipped off her jacket and skirt, undressed myself and pulled the bedcovers over us. It was a long night. I hardly slept, I was so full of emotion and was so happy, but she slept like one dead, deep and peaceful, she hardly murmured as I stroked her back and hair and kissed her face and told her she was loved.

-oOo-

It was morning. I woke first. I lay for a time and looked at her. Despite the state she was in she was still perfect. I remembered another morning, how many years ago was it now? I had awoken and looked at her, and been amazed at her beauty. That long ago morning I had been overcome with love and a simple desire to protect her and be with her for ever. Without knowing anything of what had happened in the last two days I resolved there and then to hold onto those feelings and intentions I'd had all those years ago in the attic room. Whatever had taken place, whatever changes, we would come through them.

_the world is made new and I am made new with it _

I smiled ruefully to myself, her words had a bitter edge now, but I would still hold on to the people we'd been that far away morning. All I needed to do was kick the shit out of the bastard behind all this.

Her eyes opened. They focused on me. She began to cry again.

"Sshh, shush now, it's all over."  
"Seiji?"  
"Mm."  
"I'm so sorry."  
"Shush, not now. Talk later."  
"Hm."  
"Are you thirsty? Hungry? Want anything to eat?"  
"No."  
"When did you last eat?"  
"Don't know."  
"Eat something, please."  
"Not hungry. Thirsty though."  
"Water?" I'd seen a kettle and coffee making things on the table near her suitcase. Horrible sachets of fake milk, "coffee?"  
"Just water please."

I got out of bed and she drank and began to wake and slowly function again. And so it began. She used the bathroom and came out and put her suit on, she looked better, she'd washed her face and brushed her hair.

"Can we go out? Walk somewhere?"  
"Hm, sure."

At the hotel reception I enquired how many nights the room had been booked for and found it was just the one, but she'd been there two already. I asked to stay another day, even though we might not need it, the state she was in I wanted to get her home as soon as possible but she still seemed a long way from being fit to travel.

We walked around the park outside. For a long time we didn't speak. She had no coat so I put my aviator jacket round her shoulders. On the far side of the park, by the river was a café. I took her in, sat her down and made her eat hot buttered toast and drink hot coffee. She wolfed it down. I ordered more.

"How come you were here?"  
"Police. I called them. They were looking for you. You used your phone. Even though you didn't call me, the phone company system detected the number you dialed and the cell your phone was in. Where you were. You called me three times didn't you?"

She looked at me, her face bleak with sadness and remorse. I didn't understand.

"Oh. And you came?"  
"And I came."  
"Thank you."  
"What else could I do?"  
"Not come. Never come. Never see me again."  
"Don't be stupid. What are you talking about?"  
"I'm so sorry Seiji."  
"No, it wasn't your fault."  
"Yes it was. Everything was my fault."

I was confused. She'd been attacked surely? Raped?

"What are you saying? What happened?"  
"Seiji, I'm so sorry, so sorry. I let him. I let him do it. I let him get too close, be too friendly, I gave the wrong signals."  
"Shush, now. You're confused."

She banged her hand on the table,

"I am _not_ confused! I have had a whole day to think. I know exactly what happened. Seiji, I'm sorry, you're the last person I should be shouting at. But you need to know, right from here on. It wasn't rape. I let him do it."

She hung her head and was quiet. I looked at the crown of her hair. I still loved her to the very tip of each one. I reached out and took her hands in mine.

"Tell me."

And she did. All of it. Right back to when this guy at work started working alongside her so he could learn Japanese. Right back to last May before we'd even moved out of the _Via Versecchi_. All those months he had been carefully working his way into her confidence, planning his moves. Grooming her. This bastard was a dead man, I'd make sure of it.

I'd spoken my opinion of him aloud. And my intentions. She responded,

"Seiji, no. Don't. I don't want any more involvement with him. Not even you going to see him, certainly not that. I just want to forget him."  
"If it was rape we need to go to the police."  
"No. I can't say it was. I don't think it was. It was mostly my fault. I led him on. I just want to forget him."

I sat and seethed. I needed closure on this. I suppose my anger at him was because I couldn't be angry with her, I was deflecting any hatred I felt toward her onto him. A psychiatrist could have written a paper on it.

"All I want is you Seiji. Please."  
"I don't understand what you're saying."  
"Don't be angry at me. Please don't leave me."  
"Shizuku. I will never ever do that. No matter what. Come here."

I went round the table and lifted her again, held her again.

"I thought you might."  
"Might what?"  
"Hate me. Leave me."  
"Shizuku. I love you so much it hurts. I'm not going to leave. Even if much worse things were to happen. Trust me please. I'm not going."  
"Thank you. I don't deserve you."  
"We've had this conversation before. That's not important. A little thing like this doesn't even matter."  
"It isn't a little thing."  
"It is. Completely unimportant."  
"It's important to me. I used to belong to you. Only you. You're the only person to have ever touched me. And now you're not and that's important to me. Seiji, it really hurts me to lie to you. Lying is what I've done."  
"Shush now, please. To me it's over."

She held me tighter, squeezing harder than I'd known before.

We'd been in the café all morning. It was lunch time, so I ordered us omelettes and we ate.

"Do you want to go back? Can you travel today?"  
"There is something else that needs to happen. I've decided."

That sounded ominous

"Go on."  
"We need to go back to the hotel. There's something you must do."  
"What?"  
"Please let's talk there."

-oOo-

Later, in the hotel room.

"Hit me."

I stared at her.

"What?"  
"Hit me. You must hit me. Three times."  
"What are you talking about?

She was sitting on the bed, she looked not at me but at the floor.

"Seiji. My darling. He did something to me. He did it three times. For me to feel free of him, to go on, I need to atone for that. Three times I reached a point that before only you have taken me to."  
"I don't understand."  
"Seiji this is hard enough already. Do you want me to spell it out for you?"  
"Not that. I don't mean _that_. Hitting you! I can't do that!"  
"You must."  
"No way. This is sick. I won't do it."  
"Please."  
"No."  
"Do you want me to beg?"  
"Stop it."  
"I'll beg if you want. I'll beg you to hit me."

I put my hands over my ears.

"Will you just stop it? I said no and that's it! You're not thinking straight."

She was silent a while, staring at the floor. The day was ending again, the light was fading. Short winter days. I was confused now, and hurt.

"Enough of this. You need to shower and change. We should go."

A small voice, her voice she used when she was afraid, or nervous.

"Seiji?"  
"I'm here."

She looked up at me. Her eyes were bright and clear, her face pale and serious. There was shining moisture in her eyes.

"Do you love me?"  
"Yes, you know I do."  
"Then you must do this. To show your love. If you don't hit me I will know you don't really love me. Not enough to matter."  
"Shizuku, I really have had enough of this. Now stop it. You're scaring me."

She screamed at the top of her voice. I jumped, literally jumped, in fear and surprise at that sound.

"**DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! YOU MUST! IT'S WHAT I DESERVE!**"

I staggered back against the wall. Now I was afraid.

"FOR GOD'S SAKE! What's the matter with you?"  
"I MUST PAY FOR MY SINS! It's the way I must do it," quietly now, "I'm not sick. I'm not wrong in the head. I'm deadly, deadly serious, Seiji. You have to do it. Please."  
"You're frightening me. Please stop this!"  
"If you don't hit me I'll leave."  
"Now that's enough…"  
"You don't get it do you? I will stand up, walk out that door, go into the street get in a taxi and go. And I won't come back. I'll never come back. That will be it. Because I can't go on if this doesn't happen. I will be without worth and value if this doesn't happen. I won't ever be able to look in your face again."  
"I think you need a doctor."

_do you need an ambulance? Olieslagers had asked. Yes, was my response now. I think I do. _

Her voice was quiet again. And calm.

"Will you do it?"  
"No."

She stood up. I held out a hand, a gesture to stop her,

"Now wait. Just a minute."

She pushed me. With both hands against my chest. Hard. I lost my balance and fell back against the wall by the bathroom door. She walked out. I got up and for a moment I just didn't get it. This was like a dream, this couldn't be happening. It felt like some cheesy TV soap opera. Everybody was overacting. Her high heels clicked down the corridor. The lift bell chimed. Suddenly I got it. I got it bad. Very bad. It came to me. She was leaving. Something in her was so desperate she was going. For good.

"**NO!** Shizuku, don't go!"

I ran out the door and towards the lift. The door was closing. I sprinted to it but as I got there it closed. I slammed a hand on the metal door. I turned and ran for the stairs, taking them several at a time, almost throwing myself down them. I sprinted across reception, people turned and looked at me. I prayed. I prayed aloud.

_please no taxi, let there be no taxi outside _

There _was_ a taxi outside, I heard a car door slam. I was on the pavement, it was a few yards to my left and facing right. It pulled away from the kerb. I had only one chance. I simply ran in front of it and turned to face it. There was a squeal of brakes and the driver leaned on his horn, a long brash rude sound that shocked me. I leaned my thighs against the front of the car, slapping both my palms down on the bonnet so hard they stung. The drivers face was white, his eyes wide circles. Then his face went red and he got out of the car. I held up both palms in a stop gesture and walked towards him. He came at me shouting something in French with a red face and his hands up. I don't really know what happened, I think he was about to hit me and I didn't think. My right fist flew out and caught his chin and he suddenly wasn't there. But my fist hurt like hell, a horrible stinging jarring bolt of pain. I don't recall ever punching anyone ever in my life before. But this was a good punch, which was a pity as he didn't deserve it. I stepped over him and pulled the rear door open.

"Get out!"  
"Let me go!"  
"Get the fuck out of that car. NOW!"

She got out the other side onto the pavement and started walking. I looked at the driver. He was getting up and looking really pissed at me. I put both palms out to him again.

"Look, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I don't want any trouble. Here…"

I grabbed some money, a couple of ten Euro notes, and threw them at him. I didn't wait for his reaction but went after her. She was jogging but in those shoes she couldn't run very fast. I caught up with her quickly, before she reached the street corner where there was more traffic, more taxis. I grabbed her wrist and spun her round.

"Now stop. I'd had enough!"

Her other hand came round fast and hard, the palm open. It connected with my cheek and for a moment there was nothing but a quick stab of pain and a sloping version of the world, the world was all stretched and striped sideways. My head came upright and I grabbed that wrist as well.

"Let me go!"  
"Stop it!"

We stood there comically dancing about, me holding her wrists and she straining to get out of my grip. There was only one way to stop this. I folded her arms downwards, pinned them to her sides and pushed her roughly backwards against a doorway. Her back thudded against the plate glass, her head flipped back and there was a loud _DONK!_ as her skull bounced off the door. A funny surprised expression came into her eyes as she felt the pain and reacted to it. I pressed her hard up against the glass, still pinning her arms. In a few moments she stopped struggling. Not letting go of her wrists I put my face to hers, she tried to turn away but I turned with her and pressed my mouth to her. She moaned at me, a complaining noise. Then that stopped. I pushed hard with my head and her head tipped back into the corner of the doorway where it banged against the wood a second time. I applied more pressure and held her in place. I spread my arms and held both her wrists out and up against the doorway. It wasn't the best kiss I'd ever given her but it certainly was different. She gave up struggling and began to respond which was all I needed to know. To know enough that her thoughts had turned away from fleeing and to staying. I broke the kiss. She responded at once,

"Don't stop."

Her mouth came forward and this time she forced the kiss on me. Holding her in place as I was I couldn't get out of her reach. This second kiss wasn't the best we'd had either but it was damn close. This one excited me. It went on a long time. Several minutes. We both began making noises of pleasure. Eventually she broke it.

"I know you don't want me to go. All _that_ just now… that's enough… I know how you feel about me now... But this is vital to me Seiji, you don't know how vital. I've thought about this for nearly two days now. It's how I need it to be. If I go back with you to the hotel room, you know what you've got to do. Don't you?"

It was my turn to use the small voice, the afraid voice.

"Yes."  
"I know you love me, Seiji. What I need to know is how much. Show me how much."

-oOo-

She sat on the bed again, same scene as before. Hands limp on her knees, face downcast. Only this time I knew it was going to happen. I hated this, it was so _wrong_. Every instinct in me shouted at me that I shouldn't hit a woman, especially one who had done no wrong, who was sat there meekly asking me to hit her. It was perverse. Call me old fashioned but I liked my relationship with my wife to be normal, straight. I don't do violence, especially bedroom violence. Reading this I expect you are uncomfortable with this scene. Well imagine how I felt, having to do it. I felt physically unwell inside. This just _was not right_. I know what she'd said. I even tried to see her reasons for wanting it this way, and a dispassionate part of me could even understand the reciprocity of the deal that she'd made up in her heart. A deal whereby this act was a purification for her.

But that didn't make it any easier.

"My darling."  
"Yes."  
"When you hit me, you must do it hard. Please don't just tap me."  
"Yes."  
"It needs to hurt. That's the whole point."  
"Yes. I understand, please don't say any more."

The adrenalin was working in me now, I felt hot, juddery, my muscles alive. I was afraid. I hated this.

"Shizuku, please forgive me."  
"Of course I forgive you. You've done nothing wrong."  
"I'm about to."

She looked up at me, and she used that sweet, tender, patiently waiting look that makes my heart hurt even when I'm happy. Right now, when I was anything but happy, it almost brought me to my knees.

"No you're not. You're doing the exact opposite."

I flexed my arm. I couldn't punch her, it would have to be a slap.

"Are you ready?"  
"Yes."  
"I love you."  
"I know."

I drew my arm back. Wrong, so wrong. This was all wrong.

_God, forgive me for this, you know I don't want to do it _

I swung my arm. Her head was down, looking at her hands in her lap. My open palm connected with that skin I so much love to kiss and stroke with just the tips of my fingers. The skin that before I have always touched so tenderly. The noise of the slap cracked in the quiet room. Her head jerked to her right a little, her body swayed then came back. She used her neck muscles to arrest the swing of her head and she returned it to looking forwards. Looking down. I suddenly realized I was crying. She was receiving healing through this but I wasn't. She spoke,

"Thank you."  
"Alright?"  
"Again. And harder. It has to be harder."  
"Shizuku! I hate this! I don't want to do it!"  
"I know, I know. But you know you must don't you?"  
"It's not right."  
"It is right. It's very right. Seiji, you are helping me so much. After this it will all be over."

I sniffed back wetness in my nose, tears were on my cheeks. I flexed my arm again.

_forgive me. forgive me. forgive me. _

I swung again. Harder. This time the sound was like a gunshot and her head whipped around sideways, she almost fell over but she moved a hand to the bed and kept herself upright. But much worse, she had made a noise. A small yelp of surprise and pain. A little noise that tore at my heart. My hand stung. I heard another noise and I realized I was sobbing. I reached out to her to put my arms around her and offer her comfort but she brushed my hands away.

"No, not until you've finished. Hold me when you've finished. One more."

I stood up straight again. She put a finger to her mouth and the tip came away bloody. The inside of her cheek had split against her teeth. Her cheek was bright red, splotchy, it might even bruise.

"Just one more my darling, and then it's over. You are so good to me."

I felt anything but good. I felt I should be taken away by the police for this. The last one was the worst of all. Because as my arm swung and I looked at her through my tears, at the last moment she lifted her head. She lifted her face to me and looked at me. And she smiled. That made me arrest my arm a little but she'd moved so late that I didn't have time to fully react and I saw her eyes and her expression as my hand hit her. I've talked a lot about her eyes, how beautiful they are, how deep I see into them and how much they are full of love. But in that instant they were at their most beautiful. So wide and clear and calm, full of peace. And as they closed in shock from the pain and her head moved I knew then what this meant to her. Why this was so important. Those eyes were of a person released from prison and set free. The look of love and joy there was one that only made sense if all the dark things were finally over and taken away and just the light was left. Her greyness, her drabness, her dull mood this last day had been because his dark was mixed with her light. And in that instant as my hand touched her that third time I actually saw the darkness go, and just her shining beauty was left. A gorgeous white brilliance. I understood.

It had been the hardest slap. She cried out and fell sideways onto the bed, there was blood coming out of her nose now, as well as from the corner of her mouth. Her yelp of pain grew into a cry and the crying went on. I folded at the knees and went down, throwing myself over her, holding her to me. Adding my racking sobs to her smaller ones. And even as she cried I heard her thank me.

-oOo-

_Shizuku _

Copper. The taste of it. The taste of blood. It was right that he drew blood, I am glad he did. It completed for me a symbolic circle, it drew a line from the beginning to the end. Years ago he had used force on me and I had briefly felt pain and blood had flowed then. Now, once again in a hotel room, on a bed, he had caused me pain and blood had come from my body. This time, like that first time, I had been liberated and felt such freedom and pleasure. Because that is what I felt now. Utter happiness. The soreness in my face, the stinging and tingling and the taste of copper were tiny things, inconsequential things. Compared to the joy in my heart at having been set free, they were nothing at all.

And again. My aching heart had to ask him for more. For something else was necessary, but I hoped this time it would not be a trauma. Oh, Seiji, how much I love you! How much you do for me. Would I do such things for you? I really am not sure I could. He lay over me and I heard the sounds he made, sounds of love, sounds of a man that love had driven beyond a place he wanted to go. I turned my face to him and kissed his tears, kissed his eyes.

"Thank you. Now I know. I know how much you love me. Thank you for coming to me, you have no idea how much I needed you here and what you just did means to me."

And I held his face in my hands and kissed him, a kiss through which I tried to say everything that was inside me. Gently, slowly as softly as I could.

"Seiji, in Bruxelles I felt joy three times. You know what I mean don't you?"  
"Yes, but I'd rather you didn't mention it."  
"And I never will again. Because just now, with those three blows you have cancelled those other three things, you have paid my debt by punishing the body that enjoyed itself. Do you understand me, understand how I'm thinking?"  
"Of course."  
"But there are three other things you must do, to let me come home, to let me be back with you. I think you know what those three things are. They are all the same, like the slaps, three things the same."

His eyes widened, he knew what I was saying.

"And in their way, the three things you must do now also pay a debt, and cancel out pain. When you undress me you will understand."  
"Now?"  
"Yes, now, tonight, before we leave this city. It has to be now. When I go back to Cremona I want to be whole again, I need to leave all this filth and darkness and baggage here."  
"I understand. What should I do?"  
"Undress me."

He did so. As that second day ended and it again became dark he took off my clothes and saw what had been done to me. There were three bruises, where that man had hit me three times. One low down, immediately above my centre, the place where Seiji loves to worship me with his mouth. A second purple mark was a little higher on my stomach and to one side. The third was on my chest, on my ribs, to one side again and a little below where one day my baby will feed. Why that man had hit me I do not know, I think he was just like that, he enjoyed that. I certainly didn't give him a reason to do it, my saying 'no' was nothing to cause that reaction. But in the same way that the three times of joy had been redeemed by the three blows, now Seiji had to perfectly balance those three ugly bruises with three beautiful feelings. My heart and spirit were already tuned to receive him, I needed his touch so badly. It had been almost three weeks since I had touched his lovely body and I was eager for this. I could feel things building up in anticipation already, I was ready for him.

But when he removed my clothes and saw the marks I felt such remorse. What had happened to cause those marks on my body was my fault. I could have stopped that man long before it got to that stage, and so seeing the upset they caused Seiji was for me the worst, the hardest part of the whole ugly affair.

The anger on Seiji's face lasted only a while. I took his hand and placed it, in turn on each bruise and told him what I needed from him. As I lay on my back across that bed, as he looked down on those marks, he stood and undressed himself and I confess that I enjoyed watching him, looking again after all that time away from him, at his beauty as it was exposed. And he came to me. And as it became dark, in that sordid cheap hotel room, he saved me. First with his fingers touching near the lowest bruise he made me cry out and writhe on the bed. Then with his mouth, near the third bruise and with his hands everywhere it seemed. That time it took longer but when it came it was more powerful and wonderful than the first. That second time the tears flowed. Tears of remorse, tears of love, tears of sheer animal pleasure and tears for him of simple thanks. And finally, the third time he came into me and used that part of him that drives me every time beyond a point where my mind can reason. Such pleasure he gives me, such amazing places I go when he's there. I can't describe the feelings. Sitting here writing about it, I lift my fingers from this keyboard and I see them shaking with the memory. Is he a good lover? I don't know. Apart from my own fingers I have nothing to compare him to. For I have never had another. That man in Bruxelles no longer exists, I have wiped him from my memory. I don't recall what he did to me or how he made me feel, it's gone. I have erased him. But Seiji? My God, the way he makes me feel. Just thinking sometimes about what he does to me makes me hot. I don't know if he is a good lover but I need no other. I have him, and I love him and that is all I need.

And to take me beyond what I needed, beyond the three times that were required to pay for the three bruises, he took me a fourth time, much later in the night, when I was sleeping and calm and at ease. He woke me, and apologizing for disturbing me he made me kneel. I rested my forearms against the wall and kneeling up behind me he used me in such an exciting way, a way he had never done before and it was so very strange, painful but beautiful too. He filled me, filled an aching place in my body while the place where he usually was, was empty. And the joy he filled me with when he ended that time was so new and so sharp that the cry that he drew from me then was like the very first time when we were teenagers. I lay down on my front and he lay on me, over me and still in me. And more happy than I have ever been, more at peace and more in love, I returned, a free soul, to my dreams.

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7 - 8 February 2007

For author notes about chapter 50 please see my forum (click on my pen name)


	52. Ch 51 Decision

**Chapter Fifty One – Decision**

The woman sat on the train, looking out the window at the winter farmland sliding by. The world was brown and leafless, a tractor ploughed a field, gulls hopeful behind it.

The train slowed at the station and she rose, smoothed a crease on the sleeve of her suit and got off. Around her beat the pulse of the city, commuters flowed, fast pacing, heads down, thoughts closed in.

The young Japanese lady however walked slowly, each step measured and gentle. She held her head up and there was an air of detachment about her, in her face. Unlike everyone else crowding to the exit of the station, she had something about her quite different.

She was smiling.

She took a bus from outside the station that dropped her a few miles from the city centre, at a business park of faceless offices, all the same. As though extruded from a huge machine and cut off in lengths as needed. The buildings stood at irregular intervals and around them a tame landscape of grassy mounds, small bushes and young trees gave a fabricated impression of natural surroundings.

The woman walked towards one of the offices. She waited outside calmly, quietly, as other workers entered. She was in no hurry. When the foyer of the building was less busy she went in. Approaching the pretty girl at the desk she reached into her suit and from an inner pocket drew out a white envelope. There were three lines of handwriting on it.

_Signore Portoghese  
Private and Confidential  
By Hand  
_  
"Good morning. Please would you ensure that Signore Portoghese gets this as soon as he's back?"  
"Yes. Yes, of course. Uh, Miss? I mean Mrs Amasawa?"

The Japanese lady had already turned to go. She turned back.

"Yes?"  
"Shouldn't you be in Belgium?"

She smiled at the girl.

"No."

And she left the building.

Outside she crossed the road and waited at the bus stop. She travelled back to the station, but alighting there she paused. She could get the train straight back and be in time to meet him for lunch. But it was a nice day and she didn't know when she would be back in Pisa again, so she turned the other way and went towards the _Duomo_, towards the famous leaning tower, or as she now thought almost daily in Italian _Il Campinali Duomi_. She decided to spend some time here. She had, after all, nothing else to do.

The people around her now were not commuters but tourists, and she felt more comfortable in their presence. Some of them looked at her, she looked out of place. Perhaps she was a tour guide?

Shizuku spent an hour visiting the leaning tower, and then she sat another hour in the _Duomo_. Here she prayed. Long prayers of thanks and then she asked for a blessing for their future.

And as the morning ended she got up and went home, the smile on her face now wider than before.

As she sat looking again at the countryside passing by her carriage window, she noticed that some of the trees were at last bearing buds and in some places the first pale young leaves were showing.

Spring was coming, and her heart was glad.

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9 February 2007

For author notes about chapter 51 please see my forum (click on my pen name)


	53. Ch 52 This is What Writers Do

**Chapter Fifty Two – This is What Writers Do **

As that spring came and the days became warmer and longer, and as the sun went around the back of the house on the _Via Giovanni Maria Platina_, it would rise higher in the sky each day and the little garden with its cluster of pine trees would hold the daylight for longer. On some days Shizuku would prefer to sit on the bedroom balcony. Occasionally, being a complete slob, she would rise from bed, throw a thin robe over her nakedness and take her laptop and a cup of coffee straight out onto the balcony and begin to write. And on a few rare days what might happen was frightening: she would work without stopping, without breaks other than to refill that coffee cup or use the bathroom. And with aching shoulders and rubbing her sore eyes she might look up and find him standing behind her, silently watching her working. She would check her watch and it would be six or even seven in the evening. And she would wonder how it had become like this, like a fever. Days when it was like an illness and she lost all track of time, as though she were slipping in and out of consciousness. Tossing and turning. But she told herself she couldn't be ill, or losing her grip because when she looked at the words she'd written she would find that her heart had, from a place she was unaware that was inside her, created the most wonderful and gentle love stories. The most stunning things, the most tender moments. The most aggressive and caustic arguments. And sometimes the most cruel and unredeemable characters. She knew this was good, and she knew that while this mood stayed with her she had to keep writing. As had happened in the past, the well might one day run dry, and so she kept on, that thought of running dry being, in those days, her one fear.

The thing though, the problem, as had been the problem before, was money. Again it became an issue. Her old salary had been the biggest single input to each months budget. Now they relied completely on the rental from the Earth Shop, if it wasn't rented for a couple of weeks, they noticed straight away. And while Shizuku was aware of the danger, she found that a feeling of calm was with her and all around her that spring. She felt it everywhere in the _appartamento,_ and in the garden, and even in the Café Volpi when she went there to chat with Anna-Marie. It was a strange sensation, and even though she could not explain it and even though their reserve fund was dwindling, that mood was never shaken. She became almost fatalistic in her certain belief that things would work out, even though, almost every month, a couple of manuscripts would come back with those dreaded pre-printed pink slips of polite declination. In the past these had depressed her, but no longer. She knew what she was doing now was good. Very good. And the earlier work she had polished all last year was much better than it had been. So it wasn't a case of wasting publishers time with rubbish, it was simply a case of matching the material to the right publisher. She knew he was out there, she only had to find him.

They sold the little FIAT. Seiji also sold three more violins although it seemed someone had heard his others were fair instruments and he got reasonable prices for these. But, gritting his teeth in the face of some offers, he held onto the asymmetrical ones and one or two others that he was fond of for sentimental reasons. He knew the asymmetrical ones were good. Very good. And he dug his heels in and waited for someone to come along who agreed with him. In March he finished a very special instrument indeed. He had his favourites of course, number one and number eleven, each of which had a special hold on him. After a gap of years he had named number one _Shirou Nishi_ and number eleven _Marriage_. But this one which was the twenty-ninth had been finished a few days after they had returned from Paris. And this one was the only instrument he had named the day he finished her. In memory of what they had gone through he named her _Shizuku_. She was a beautiful piece of work and her deep throaty calm sound spoke to him of the person after whom she was named. This violin stayed with him all his life, one of only three to do so. Like _Shirou Nishi_ and _Marriage_, and the magical, peaceful, beautiful lady who inspired him, she never left him.

Signore Portoghese, the interpreter company, and a certain ex-colleague of Shizuku's were never mentioned again. Not once. That phase of her life was ring-fenced by a cofferdam that excluded all discussion. Shizuku resolutely turned her back on anything that smelled even remotely of corruption and that meant that never again, while she lived in Italy, did she contemplate a salaried job. Seiji spoke with her once, in April, about going back to working in Cremona but her response was so final and so vigorous that he never raised the subject again. He did keep a careful eye on her though; he was concerned that the total shutdown of her past working life and all links to it wasn't completely healthy.

And money. Always money. While they spoke about the lack of it, they didn't worry as they had before. Their talks always leaned towards the positive side of the problem, and ways to avert bankruptcy. If the very worst happened they could move. Anna-Marie had even offered them her spare room above the shop in the _Vicolo Maurino_ and if it came to it they could stay there and put some possessions in storage behind Seiji's workshop.

The one problem with that though was that they had both fallen in love with _Giovanni Maria Platina_ and didn't want to leave. The place was as perfect a home as they could imagine, given their income.

-oOo-

In May, on one of those odd intense days when the words that flowed out of Shizuku detached her from the flow of time that the rest of us are bound to, her phone rang. She glanced at the screen but the number wasn't familiar. She answered the call.

"Hello?"  
"Shizuku Tsukishima?" A Japanese voice. A Japanese voice that was six years out of touch.  
"Yes."  
"It's Hayao. Hayao Kanesaku."

She turned the name over in her mind. It was familiar but she couldn't quite place it. This was embarrassing.

"Hm, if I said _The Courier_, would that help?"

Now she remembered. Wow, this _was_ a voice from the past.

"Hayao! My word! How are you?"  
"I'm very well, how are you?"  
"Fantastic! Things are great here."  
"Where is 'here' exactly?"  
"Italy. A city called Cremona. Have you heard of it?"  
"No, but it sounds like an expensive place to call from Kyoto."  
"You're in Kyoto now? What are you doing there?"  
"I have my own magazine now. Well, the bank owns it. But I'm editor. It's called _Raise the Anchor."  
_"What an odd name."  
"It's a political joke. We're trying to get the ship back to sea. The ship of Japan's economy, education, business ethic. Before the ship can set sail we need to raise the anchor, it's become something of a rallying cry. Good stuff is happening here."  
"Things can't be that good."  
"Oh? Why?"  
"Well, you're calling me. I only ever wrote you a few angst-riddled half baked ramblings. And most of those were the result of teenage hormones. Surely you don't want me to write again?"  
"Well, actually, yes. I do. Is that a problem? Are you still writing?"

Shizuku laughed. She looked at the laptop in front of her, scrolled through the six thousand words she'd written since lunch.

"Yes. I am still writing. A little. Off and on."  
"That's good, so you'll write for me?"  
"Hey, whoa. That's a bit sudden."  
"You remember me though, don't you? I don't mess about. I know you can write."  
"That was ten years ago. I've lived in Italy for six years. I'm a little out of touch with what's happening over there."  
"Not a problem, you come over here for a couple of months and you'll soon get under the skin of the place again. I know you'd pick up on the important issues straight away, the issues you could write about."  
"Go to Japan for two months? Are you serious? I'm married now!"  
"You are? That's great. Congratulations!"  
"I've been married six years."  
"Wow, I am out of touch."  
"So, I'm sorry, I can't just drop everything here for two months and play roving investigative journalist in Kyoto. I'm very sorry Hayao."  
"Hm, I see. That is a pity. Could you manage a month's stay?"  
"Not really. I mean in terms of actually finding the time I might be able to but the problem is cost. We are on a shoestring here, so there's no way I could justify the expense of staying there a month, a hotel, the flights, all that."  
"You wouldn't need to."  
"Of course I would, don't be silly, I can't sleep in the railway station and eat out of rubbish bins."  
"The magazine would pay for all that."  
"Don't be crazy. I mean that's ridiculously generous of you but what if it were a waste of money? What if at the end of my stay I hadn't enough material for an article?"  
"Not _an_ article, five articles. I want five. Elementary school; junior high; high school; university and finally a summary and change proposal." Shizuku could visualize him ticking them off on his fingers, "The four stages of education. And at the end, how they should be fixed. Each to be examined by you in conjunction with a couple of our research staff."

Shizuku was shocked. He was mad. Totally raving.

"Hayao, that's insane! I can't gather the information for a five article series in a month! Sorry, you must be confusing me with someone else, someone super human."

There was a mild chuckle at the other end of the line.

"Oh, no. No confusion. At least I don't think so. I'm sure there aren't many Shizuku Tsukishima's around. There used to be one who lived in Tama. She once wrote a series of left wing articles for a totally unknown political rag which no-one expected to ever get read by anyone apart from a few restless Marxist students. Circulation of around 400 hand-printed copies a month. Then this Tsukishima person dropped out of writing and went abroad. I mean who ever heard of someone at the age of sixteen ever writing anything really worthwhile in the political arena? No-one does that. But a year later _The Courier_ was being machine printed twice monthly and had a circulation of nearly 3000 copies. And we'd attracted two or three damn good writers and some reasonably competent financial backing. A year after _that_ I sold _The Courier_ and worked with a main stream political weekly in Kobe. And the success of _The Courier_ was all down to a series of articles this Tsukishima girl had written. Of course there might be another Shizuku Tsukishima around who can write well enough to have that kind of influence, but, hm… I'm not aware of one. And anyway, you'd have much more than a month, you could start from your base in Italy."  
"Hayao, that's a very nice story," Shizuku was smiling, "and I've heard some men tell me some interesting stories in my time, to try and get me to do things for them, and you can be proud that I think your tale is one of the better ones, but you can't seriously expect me to believe that can you?"  
"No. Not a word of it. Not from me anyway," she could still hear the smile in his voice, "But you know the _Proposition_ website?"

She did. It was a mainstream political media site that reviewed all the significant Japanese political commentary journals. Its database held records of articles and publication figures going back years. She kept in touch with Japan by looking at it from time to time, although not so much these days.

"I'm sure you do. Well go there and do a search on _The Courier_. Specifically the 36 months between mid 1996 when a completely unknown young female writer began to submit a series of articles, and mid 1999. No, really. I'm serious. Look today. Have a think about what I've said and then drop me an e-mail" (he gave her an address). "Now I think _that_ Shizuku Tsukishima was a pretty damn impressive writer. I _may_ have made a big mistake and called the wrong person. But, well, I don't think so."

And he hung up. No goodbye at all. Shizuku stared stupidly at her dead phone. Hayao had always been a fast talker and a quick thinker but she knew he wasn't a fool. He'd clearly had some success in the last few years.

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9 & 11 February 2007

For author notes about chapter 52 please see my forum (click on my pen name)


	54. Ch 53 Mudbank in the River

**Chapter Fifty Three – Mudbank in the River **

As that day became evening she closed the website, got up from the laptop and went downstairs and out into the garden. She sat on the bench and listened to the water chuckle into the bowl of the fountain. He was right. Kanesaku's small fry struggling socialist rag had blossomed in the 24 months of mid '97 to mid '99. The circulation had skyrocketed nearly ten fold. From the scans on the webpage she could see that the production values had gone into orbit with the circulation and that meant more income, more competent management and stronger financial backing. Her series of articles published between August 1996 and May 1997 were strange to read. She'd not thought of them at all in almost seven years, but speed reading through them now the content came back to her. She considered that she had been sixteen, and in the latter half of the series, seventeen. It didn't seem possible. Surely someone ten years older had done this. She looked at the observations she'd made and the arguments put. They did, indeed, make sense. At the time they hadn't, and that was hard to get her head round. Perhaps it had all been instinct and intuition.

She could have stayed in Japan and gone on to write more, she shouldn't have turned her back and run away. She could and should have faced it. But instead she'd come to Italy out of love and her life had taken a different direction, like a river that flows against a mudbank and divides into two arms, she in her boat, had drifted down one arm and what had occurred on the other side of the mudbank was hidden from view. Then a few miles downstream the two arms of the river briefly joined again and she'd turned to look back up the other channel and caught a tantalizing glimpse of what her journey would have been like if she had put her oars in the water sooner and turned her boat more the other way. It was a strong vision, this one of rivers and progress, of options and decisions and she wondered what her life would be like now had she gone left around that mudbank instead of right. She imagined Seiji, here now in Cremona working away. He'd still have four years of his apprenticeship to serve. She would still be single, he and she might write or phone and encourage each other. Or maybe even they would have gradually drifted apart, in slow and gentle degrees, the letters passing less and less frequently, the phone remaining silent for more and more days between each call. And in Tokyo, or Kobe, or Kyoto, or wherever that unseen arm of the river might have flowed, would be she, working in some office perhaps and doing real work to change the system, to shake people up and help change the lives of the Japanese people around her for the better. That would have had value wouldn't it? That would have been a life worth living, hm? Yes, a life worth living.

But that image of the silent phone, of the last letter he would write, led to another image. An image of him maybe stopping at a café one evening to get something to eat and a girl casually stopping next to him and starting up some small inconsequential conversation. A conversation that might lead to other innocent friendly meetings, meetings at which he and she might share more of themselves until one day, the inevitable would happen and they would meet in a private place and share more than just conversation. Shizuku found those images unbearably sad, and she couldn't contemplate them.

No, she had done the right thing. In fairy tales when the heroine comes to a fork in the road, in the dark forest, she should always take the right hand path, the path that signifies the correct choice. The left hand path is always the one that in fairy tales leads to danger or signifies a wrong decision. It was a traditional symbolism, she had taken the right hand stream, and things had turned out right. Hadn't they?

She had drifted in her boat down the right hand channel and married Seiji and come here, to a life of struggles and worry and financial hardship, to a life that seemed to serve up to them one problem after another. The left hand channel seemed enticing now that she had been privileged to get a brief glimpse back along it but the thought of him here in Italy meeting someone else and one day no longer dialing her number ever again was ineffably painful to her.

Love. It all came down in the end, to love, didn't it? Grandpa had been right. A good strong link. She had come to Italy because of love. And in the years that followed they had, above all else, had love. Things had been bad at times, things had gone horribly adrift but through it all flowed love. It was love that had made him get on a plane and fly to Paris and walk the streets. The hopelessness of that search had been kept from him by simple love. She had stood on a bridge in the dull cold February light and looked at the brown water and contemplated her own death. Appropriate and deserved it had seemed but what had kept her from using those muscles and leaning forward and feeling gravity pull her? Love. Love for her parents. Love for him. At the time she had thought of these as _attachments_ but they weren't only that, no. She had seen that bridge alive with people long dead, people whose whole instincts were governed by love, the need for it, the aching raw wound of losing it.

Kinu – even poor Kinu had been driven to do what she had done because of love.

And even Falco. Poor Falco, he had once been lost in his blinkered ideology and gone off to cheerfully do bad for a crazy man. But after a passage of time he had realised he was a cog in a vast machine that was doing evil. He changed his mind and did something, however small, and ultimately useless to try and make it right. And Shizuku's eyes opened wide with understanding when she saw love even in his motives. A love of his fellow men, of Germans and Germany that was being destroyed by evil and which he loved enough to risk his life to save.

And her? What of her? What of that stupid episode that caused Seiji to get on a plane in the middle of the night and walk the dawn streets in a hopeless search? Why had she done what she had done? She recalled the voice in her head, that last thing He had spoken, the last time she'd ever heard Him speak.

_There is a reason. There is purpose in all things. This is why it happened. _

At the time she had been deeply perturbed by that last sentence.

_This is why it happened_

Had she done what she had done in order that he, being love, would come? So that their whirling thrashing day of redeeming physical violence and sweating physical passion might be the start of some new phase in their lives? Had she done it for that? _To test them? To temper the steel of them in those flames?_

She looked at these things in a new light, in a way she'd not thought about them before. As a result of those three days she had gone to Pisa only once more, to resign from her job. And from that had come this new writing phase, and a new phase of he and her growing so much closer than they had done before. Because the past showed them how wrong things could go, that became a sign to them to never go there again. Yes, their relationship this spring had become more intense, and she wasn't thinking about a physical intensity (although there was that), their love had grown so much in every way – stronger, deeper, a palpable thing that bound them by strong thick wires of trust to each other in a way they had not understood two people could be.

And now this offer from Hayao Kanesaku. An offer she couldn't possibly have accepted if she was still working. But she wasn't. Now, not even three months since Paris, she was being offered an opportunity to write something political again, something she knew she would enjoy and although a fee hadn't been discussed she felt sure that here was an end to their financial worry. Another co-incidence. Like a cat leading her to a shop. Or a lunch bag left beside a clock. Links in a chain. They were all links. She knew that Hayao was a link. His call, today, had purpose. Her mood of unshakeable optimism was there, like a crowd shouting her on. It felt right.

Shizuku had no intention of turning her boat around and rowing upstream back along that other channel, but it certainly appealed to her to move her boat across a little and gain extra distance from the current flowing down it. The current flowing out of that other channel here mingled with the water in her own and the force became one for a while. She would be stupid not to make use of that additional momentum.

That evening over dinner she mentioned it to Seiji.

He gave a cheery wave of his hand, he was almost dismissively nonchalant about it.

"Yes, by all means go. Take six weeks if you like."  
"Won't you worry?"  
"No, not at all."  
"Don't you mind?"  
"Yes I'll miss you, you know that. But really it's not like before is it? Now, I know there's nothing to come between us. What happened before will never happen again, I know that. You'll return. So yes, by all means discuss it with him, find out what the details are."

-oOo-

The details were that she could take a couple of months to do research while still in Italy. Hayao had a couple of people who could check sources locally and feed information back to her. He could also give her the phone numbers and e-mail addresses of a few contacts he had in the education authorities, people who were unhappy. People wanting change. People high up enough to have clout but who didn't want to be seen to do the clouting themselves since that would make their own positions delicate. But they were willing to remain anonymous and talk to a journalist. As long as that journalist could be trusted and who had a track record of fighting the system constructively. And if the articles gained momentum, and support in the right places then the anonymous sources could be leaked at the convenient time. After her information gathering phase was done she'd visit Kyoto and do the interviews and if any heavy work was needed Hayao had a big lad who could go with her and put his boot in a few doors. After that she could return to Italy and send him the draft articles at the rate of one a fortnight. He had graphic layout people to pretty them all up. All expenses paid, and a rental car. She didn't drive? No worry, he'd get her a driver as well. The fee? 400,000 Yen. Well, Shizuku had thought. That was excellent, that would help a lot, that was nearly four months worth of Earth Shop rental. No, he'd clarified, with a chuckle, it was 400,000 _per article_. Shizuku had sat stunned, holding her phone.

"Hayao, that's two million Yen!"  
"And if your writing is as good as your mathematics we're home and dry. Have we a deal?"  
"Well, yes. Of course."  
"Good. I'll send you the full proposal and a contract by e-mail. I'm looking forward to working with you Shizuku, this is gonna rock some people's boats, I just know it!"

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11 February 2007

For author notes about Chapter 53, please see my forum (click on my pen name)


	55. Ch 54 The Baron Comes to Life

**Chapter Fifty Four – The Baron Comes To Life**

The details of Shizuku's work that summer don't interest us, because it all went to plan. Hayao gave her an advance of half the first article's fee and that kept them solvent those two months. She worked like a demon planning her article structures, gathering the key arguments she'd use and phoning to arrange interviews. In August and September she worked in Kyoto and that was convenient because it was summer break and many of the professors and senior administrators she needed to interview had the time to see her. And because she was working to her own timetable she could take time to be on the phone pretty much when she liked and she and Seiji talked often. The six weeks apart were nothing like as bad as the three weeks of Belgium.

Back in Cremona Shizuku finalized the article details and sent her drafts off to Hayao. By the end of the year it was all done and the series of articles appeared in _Raise the Anchor_ from January to March 2006.

But by then, amazing things had happened to throw all of that into the shadows. Hayao became the important link that Shizuku had suspected.

-oOo-

She was lunching with him one day when they got talking about her writing.

"I never knew you were a fiction writer. What kinds of things have you done? I'm sure I'd recall your name if I'd seen it in a bookshop."  
"That's because you haven't. I've never been published although it's not for want of trying."  
"Really? That's crazy. If you do fiction as well as you do political commentary you should be published. What do you write?"  
"Pretty much anything – children's books, fantasy novels, romances, several short stories, one science fiction story and some ghost stories."

Shizuku reeled off a list of Tokyo publishers she'd offered work to. Hayao sat for a minute and then got a business card from his wallet.

"Children's stories you say?"  
"Hm."  
"Give this guy a try. Tell him Hayao sent you." He smiled. "And I've always wanted to use that line."

So she did. It was a Kyoto children's publisher, they were known for their illustrated books which was why Shizuku had avoided them – she was a writer, not an illustrator. Shizuku wrote to the man Hayao had mentioned and included a disk with two of her early stories on, two that used the Baron as the main character. This man, Kazu Yokoyama, phoned her a week later and asked her to come and see him. The issue was that both stories were good, but the format his publishing house used required illustrations. Kazu explained that part of their job would be to find an illustrator to work with Shizuku and produce artwork that she was happy with.

She left Japan before the thing really got started but during the first half of October an e-mail arrived that contained proof work from three illustrators. The images from the first two artists were nice but lacked something. One of them was too heavy and cartoony, too much of an American influence. The second guys work was good, it had a rather dreamy feel to it and he favoured pastel colours and faded backgrounds. Easy on the eye but not entirely the kinds of scenes she'd imagined. And then she opened the third set of files. And she sat there quietly and looked at her screen. She was shocked. It was like… well, she didn't know what it was like. It felt like looking inside her own head. She'd sent copies of the photos of the Baron doll to Kazu and one or two of her own crude sketches that gave scene layouts and unlike the other two illustrators who had put a lot of their own interpretation into the work, this third artist had taken the photos of the Baron and simply put life in them. In these pictures the Baron actually walked, climbed and danced. When he ran he held his hat on with one paw and in one image where he was holding a cat girls hand Shizuku could feel the love in his expression. It was extraordinary. Sitting there Shizuku was transported back in time eleven years to a difficult two months, two months when she had wrestled with a story that would not go the way she'd wanted it to. She'd sat up late into the night, hardly eating, neglecting her schoolwork. She'd had to do this because he was coming. And for her, he was love. She had given herself two months to write this story, a test it was, a way to show to herself that she had the same value in her that she saw in Seiji. She had got that story finished – just, but she had never really liked it. It had become a symbol of what she could do, but she never seriously thought it had the makings of something people would ever pay money to read. During her rethink period of last year she had taken it out and given it a polish. In fact a major spring cleaning, until finally she was happy with it. She found that after all she really rather liked it, as a test piece it had not worked, but after she had done a large rewrite she grew to love it. It was, she admitted to herself, her first violin, and no matter how rough it might seem to others, it held a charm for her that no other story did. And now this artist – Shizuku looked at the e-mail again – a girl named Ume Enomoto, had given that story life. The Baron had life. She answered the e-mail at once. It was a very short e-mail.

"Please use Ume's work. It's perfect. I don't mind which scenes she illustrates except that my only request is she paints the dance scene and the end scene where the Baron says good bye."

-oOo-

In December a finished portfolio of two dozen images arrived through her letterbox. She took them, and Seiji with her, down into the garden and there, despite the cool damp of the day, she opened the envelope and went again into the past, into that world that until now had existed only for her. Yet here she could see that it existed for Ume too, and through her skill it could exist for everyone. Seiji looked through the pictures.

"Wow, these are wonderful, she's really talented. I love her faces."  
"Aren't they cute? Look at his eyes in this one. Oh, I could fall in love with him myself."  
"And these are scenes from your book?"  
"Hm."  
"I've still not read it."  
"Didn't you ever read it?"  
"No, you know I didn't. You never let me read any of them."  
"Would you like to?"  
"Of course."  
"Wait, I'll get it for you. I have a hard copy upstairs."

She brought the slim file of typed sheets down. It was late in the afternoon and the light was fading so as he began to read, Shizuku went back inside and brought out a fistful of candles which she stuck with a little of their own wax to the arms and back of the wooden bench. It was quite dark when Seiji finished reading. He sat back and handed her the papers.

"Shizuku, this is beautiful," she heard his voice faltering, his emotion, "This is just wonderful. How come no-one agreed to publish this before?"  
"I didn't submit this one for years, it wasn't in this form, it was quite bad at first. But last year after it's rewrite I did send it to four or five publishers but they said it wasn't the kind of material they could use. I just didn't find the right publisher."  
"And you have now?"  
"Yes, it seems so."  
"Shizuku, I am so proud of you. This is great stuff. It's brilliant! And these illustrations – wow, if this doesn't sell then there's no hope for civilization."

He leaned towards her, put an arm behind her neck and kissed her. For a long time.

And as it turned out, there was, after all, hope for civilization. For the book was published in the following February and became quite popular. Not a huge success but enough so that children's book critics began asking when her next work might come out. Being an unknown author, Kazu Yokoyama wasn't able to offer her a contract that included a royalty clause. All he could offer was her retention of copyright and a single lump fee. But that was enough, it was at the time, for them, a magically huge amount, and enough to get them back on course. In light of later events Shizuku realized she'd been robbed, the book sales made this a very nice profit maker for Kazu, but she retained the vital copyright and through Hayao she went in search of an agent, and her next work, still through Kazu's company, was negotiated on a much more favourable contract.

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11 February 2007

For author notes to Chapter 54, please refer to my forum (click on my pen name)


	56. Ch 55 The Fountain Again

**Chapter Fifty Five – The Fountain Again**

In the spring of 2006 two important things happened. First of all Shizuku's parents came to visit them. Seiji and Shizuku were happy to be able to pay for her parents flights, they had never had enough money to make the trip before. Yasuya had retired from the library the previous autumn. Tama had come under the Tokyo Central Prefectural library system and with the new digitization of the catalogue, combined with declining traffic in book lendings (the internet had finally made its dent on the library system) he had been offered retirement. Asako now worked in the marketing department for a large supermarket chain. Her work involved market analyses and recommending responses to consumer trends. Very high brow stuff and she found it fascinating work, seeing the changing seasonal and cultural behaviours of women and their shopping trolleys. When they arrived Shizuku was shocked at how much they had aged, Yasuya had lost much of his hair and now used a stronger prescription in his spectacles. He'd given up smoking on strict orders from his doctor, he was ruining his lungs and nicotine withdrawal had made him a more irritable person. Asako's hair was going grey and she wore laughter lines at her eyes with some pride. Her mother's attitude to getting older stayed with Shizuku, it was a strong positive reaction that she felt an affinity to.

But the nicest thing about this visit was that one evening Seiji and Shizuku took her parents out to a restaurant, and Shizuku, her heart bursting with pride, was able to tell them that she had finally had a book published. Yasuya and Asako were very pleased. Shizuku said she was sorry for causing them all that worry all those years ago and it was a curious co-incidence that her first published book was the one she'd written that autumn.

The second important thing was that one Saturday morning, quite early and before the city was awake, Seiji woke his wife and ignoring her moans about needing more sleep, cajoled her out of bed and into some clothes. He took her by the hand and led her downstairs and along the silent, still shady _Maria Platina. _

"Where are you taking me?"  
"You'll see."

He turned to look at her, and on his face that old crooked grin was back. She wanted to go back to bed, or at least slide gently sideways into one of the just-opening cafés and get herself a decent coffee. She'd hate him one minute when he was like this then a moment later, he'd turn on that crooked smile and there was no defence against it. He won so many arguments while wearing it.

"Come _on_, its not even nine o'clock, this time of day is for primitive life forms, manual workers. Violin makers. Us intellectuals need our sleep."  
"Your brain isn't in use yet, so that doesn't count. That puts you on the level of a large amoeba or maybe a snail. Whereas me, being a mere manual worker, I'm fully functioning the second I awake."  
"Hmm, I feel like a snail. Wanna sleep…"  
"It's not far. And I promise you'll like it."  
"If there's somewhere serving espresso nearby, I'll forgive you."

He smiled again,

"Oh, yes, they serve very good espresso near where we're going, so get you best forgiveness hat on."  
"Pity. Left it in the bedroom. Some jerk didn't give me time to dress properly."  
"Stop your whining. We're here."

It was a small piazza. Surrounding it were a few cafés, only one of which under its red and white striped awning, showed any signs of life yet. A small pretty church that seemed to be always shut, and above the cafés, nondescript townhouses walled cream and pink and yellow with stucco. It was an unusual place, like a secret world, a little private community that the tourists rarely found. At this time of day no-one was around but later some of the students from the nearby _Acadamia Grafica_ would come here to have breakfast and steal the free newspapers from the cafes before slouching off to their day's lectures. The _piazza San Giorgio_. She knew it well, she knew almost every flagstone and cobble of its worn surface, and in the centre, she knew every stone of the fountain, each face of the three cherubs, the proud sneer of the prancing unicorn, the peaceful burbling of the clear water.

Still holding her small warm hand, he led her to the fountain. They stopped and watched the water flow, heard it splash, felt it refresh. And for a few moments the man and the woman became a boy and a girl again and remembered. She looked at her husband, she looked long and hard. At the line of his jaw, the slightly down-turned line of his lips, slack and relaxed, at his dark eyes, his pale skin. And that hair, that long hair in its familiar ponytail, and that damned patch at the back that wouldn't lay flat. She let go of his hand and reached out to touch it, she slid her fingers through the thick heavy black mat and tried to get it to lay flatter. But you know? It just wouldn't. She knew it wouldn't, it was just an excuse to touch him. He turned to face her and that natural movement brought her hand more around to the back of his scalp and with a gentle pressure she pulled his head towards her. And the obvious conclusion to that was that their lips met. His arms came up around her, and hers around him, and they shared that contact they both so much enjoyed.

Shizuku knew there was a script to this scene though, they had begun the dialogue years and years ago. She wondered now if he'd brought her here to tell her something. With difficulty, not wanting to, she took her lips from his.

"What did you wish for?"  
He smiled, "You know I'm not supposed to tell. It breaks the wish."  
"I was just curious," she smiled back,  
"Only when it comes true, can I tell you."  
"When? Or if?"  
"When."  
"And that would be…?"  
"Now. Shizuku, my wish has come true."  
"Is it a good truth?"  
"Very good. The best."

His crooked smile returned.

"Well, tell me!"  
"You wrote a book."  
"I did write a book."  
"You wrote more books, lots more."  
"Hm, I did."  
"But for years you never sold one."  
"No."  
"I saw that hurting you. I watched you and knew you were hurting."

She looked at him calmly, placidly, and a little sadly.

"Yes, it was hard."  
"And then, finally you sold one."  
"Hm."  
"And my wish came true."

She knew this was coming. How close could two people connect? Perfect silent communication, like two musicians who know each other well.

"You wished that I would get published?"  
"Yeah, pretty cool, huh."  
"Thank you. That was a great wish. That's so sweet of you! But mine… mine hasn't quite worked out yet."  
"Don't tell me, because if you do it will break the wish."  
"Well, it has sort of worked out, but not really, really strongly. So I could tell you."  
"Tricky. We might end up with it only half coming true."  
"But, well, you know, I suppose it has come true."  
"Go on then."  
"You sold a violin. Ages ago. Only not for very much. And then you sold some more last year for a little more, so I suppose it did come true. It's just that I wanted you to _really _sell one. I mean for a lot. Particularly when we were struggling. But then again, it wasn't really for the money. I've never wanted to be rich. I'm quite happy being poor you know, as long as we can be poor together. I suppose selling a violin for a lot of money would be how other people would show that they thought you were good at it. And that's what I really wished for – for you to be a good artisan. And for other people to recognize that."  
"Thank you, that was a lovely thing to wish for."  
"But maybe now, no-one will ever think you are good. You won't ever sell one for a lot of money."  
"It depends on what you think a lot of money is."  
"I don't think I ever thought about it. Half a million Yen? A million?"  
"How about five?"  
"Five million? That's not realistic! That would be out of this world! But that's not likely is it?"

The crooked smile was back, and this one was very crooked.

"Put your hand in my pocket."  
"Are you sure? What will I find?" she smiled, that cheeky look he knew meant trouble.  
"Well, I know it's hard, but do try and control your more primitive urges, woman. Just reach for what's _in_ the pocket, not what's behind it."

She put her hand in and wiggled it about, her fingers deliberately straying just for the hell of it. But as well as him, she found something else. A piece of paper. She let go of him and pulled the paper out.

"Open it."

She unfolded it. It was a cheque, made out to Signore S. Amasawa. For 300 Euros. The signatory was unintelligible.

"Three hundred Euros? That's not much."  
"There's no decimal point."  
"Where?"  
"There! Wow, you really did leave your brain behind."

She looked at the numbers. 300.00. Only it wasn't 300.00, it was 30000. Thirty thousand. How much was thirty thousand Euros? It was too early in the morning to do this.

"Thirty _thousand_?"  
"Mm."  
"That's…?"  
"Almost five million Yen."  
"My God. Oh, my God! Seiji, what's this for?"  
"A pair of violins. Numbers 26 and 27, _Asymmetrica_ and _Giovanni Maria Platina_, my first two non-symmetrical violins. They were bought by the… hm, I need to get this right… _Il __Orchestra dell'Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia. _In Rome. Their board of musical directors approached me in the middle of last year. I've been talking to them for a while. That weekend I was away in October? When I said I went to Salzburg with Signore Guarnieri? Well, sorry, that was a lie. But it was only a little lie and for a good reason. I went to Rome and took several violins with me. When they heard the asymmetrical ones, they agreed to buy two for their two soloists. Things took a while to get finalized and it's been sheer hell – I've been wanting to tell you for weeks and weeks. I was hoping I could say something when your mom and dad were here but they took the violins away and wanted to play them for a while to see if they were acceptable. The cheque and their letter arrived yesterday."

His face was now split in a huge grin of pride. Shizuku stared at him, eyes wide.

"Oh, Seiji, oh, my darling. I'm so proud of you. That's fantastic!"  
"Pleased?"  
"Oh, yes! Oh, you clever boy! Kiss me!"

He did. And she was suddenly wide awake. And then she decided that she absolutely didn't need that espresso.

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11 February 2007

For author notes about Chapter 55, please see my forum (click on my pen name)


	57. Ch 56 Hammer

**Chapter Fifty Six – Hammer**

_Seiji – New York - May 2006_

It was the chance of a lifetime. I might never again have an opportunity such as this. Sometimes things happen in just such a way that it's like fate has decreed it to be, a set of circumstances fall into place and you know it's supposed to happen.

A very famous violin was to be auctioned at Christie's in New York. Signore Guarnieri wanted to go. There was a collector he wanted to meet and he also knew that many Americans from the musical art world would be present so he wanted the opportunity to renew friendships and talk business. He'd taken me with him to Vienna and Paris, he told me of this trip but he said he was very sorry but he could not afford to pay for my ticket – did I want to go? He would be very pleased to take me with him but he was sorry that I would have to pay for my flight and hotel room.

But now Shizuku and I had the money to afford this – her first book sale, the fees from her political articles and my sale of numbers 26 and 27. An idea occurred to me, would she like to come with us? And her answer, of course, was a definite yes. It was such a luxury to be able to do things like this, to take time out when we wanted to without having to consult bosses in offices.

We were there three nights. On the first day the Signore visited a collector friend and Shizuku and I had the day to ourselves, so we treated ourselves to the typical tourists day out. New York is stunning, completely overwhelming, so much of everything. The buildings are huge. Tokyo city centre has buildings as big, but Manhattan's business centre covers a much bigger area. The place was packed with big cars, big trucks and big people. New York was just so much _more_ than anywhere else we'd been.

On the second day, the sixteenth, the morning of the auction, Signore Guarnieri took us to Christie's. We were introduced to an auctioneer who was also an old friend of my master. It seemed Guarnieri was well known in lots of places. We talked about the music art world generally and then our host asked if we would like to see it. My heart leaped. I might never again have such a chance in my life and Shizuku almost certainly wouldn't. We were invited into an inner room behind the main auction hall. Two security guards armed with pistols were at the doorway. Inside the brightly lit room, shelves lined the walls and numerous instruments were here, all destined for the auction that afternoon. We stopped at a large display case. The violin lay within. I went up to the glass. The auctioneer spoke,

"Please do not touch the glass, it is alarmed."

There she was. The Hammer. Made by his own hands in 1707. Next year she would be exactly 300 years old. I stared at her. She was stunning, her wood a rich varied tone, worn by years of polishing and the gentle touch of musicians hands. The original reddish tone of the borax wax was now yellow in places, the colour of old parchment. I had never been this close to a Stradivarius before, the ones I'd seen in the museums in Rome and Vienna had been further from the public, beyond ropes. But this one was in a small cabinet. Had the glass not been there I could have reached out and touched it. A private viewing like this was really special. Signore Guarnieri stood beside me.

"Isn't it beautiful?"  
"She is. She's amazing."  
"No matter how good you think it looks, I can assure you it sounds better."

Shizuku was on the other side of the display case. I looked up from the instrument to her. She smiled at me. I don't think there have been many times in my life when I would rather hold something else instead of her, but I'm sorry to say, Shizuku, that this was one of them.

"Adriano, you may take it out and play it if you wish, we are insured."

The Christie's auctioneer had addressed the Signore. My God, I was going to actually hear a Stradivarius, the first time ever, apart from on recordings.

"Thank you. But, no. I once played the ___Kiesewetter _back in 1986, and that was enough for me. It would be greedy of me to get to play two Stradivarii in my life."

_Oh, well, it would have been nice… _

"But there is a person here who I think would like to. Seiji, would you care to play it?"

I looked at him. His gaze was gentle and kind and he smiled, his eyes shone with a friendliness I'd not seen before. I think my heart stopped beating. Either I had just had a catatonic fit and fallen asleep and was dreaming, or it was a heart attack and I'd died and gone to heaven. I realized I'd not answered. All I could do was nod like an idiot.

"Would that be alright?" The Signore was asking the auctioneer.  
"Yes, I believe that would be alright. I will have to have a second member of staff present, and Mr. Amasawa, you'll have to sign an insurance form. Is that acceptable?"

_Was it acceptable? You could be the devil himself and I'd be signing away my soul and it would be acceptable._

"Yes, um, yes, that's no problem."

The man made a phone call. We waited in silence for a few minutes. Shizuku moved around the glass case and came to me. She took my hand and gave it a squeeze, one of her special squeezes. I looked at her and she smiled and whispered,

"Enjoy this. I will."

A second man entered the room. He carried a form on a clip board. I was offered the form and a pen. I signed. I didn't know what I was signing.

"Don't panic Mr. Amasawa, you are not personally liable. That would be pointless unless you are worth two or three million dollars. The insurance cover is ours. Only…" he paused, "…please don't drop it."

I nodded stupidly again. I was doing a good impression of a complete jerk today. I'm surprised these guys even trusted me with their pen. The auctioneer made another phone call.

"Ed, hi, it's Jim. Please would you shut off the alarm to cabinet one in the large viewing room. OK, thanks. I'll call again in a few minutes for you to do a reset."

He stepped forward.

"Please excuse me. Adriano, and you please miss, would you step back a little. Thank you."

The American unlocked the cabinet and reached in. He lifted the Hammer and turning, offered it to me. It wasn't me anymore, it was someone else. I wasn't thinking, I certainly wasn't in charge of my muscles. My hands went out and took the violin. I held it for a moment hardly daring to do anything in case I dropped it. I was offered a bow. The bow alone would be worth more than our apartment.

"When you are ready, Mr. Amasawa. But please, not for too long and choose something gentle if you wouldn't mind."

_Choose something gentle._ I hadn't even thought what to play. My mind was a blank. What? What to play? Some Chopin? Debussy? Bach? Handel? I started to panic. I looked around and then saw Shizuku. She was a little way off and still smiling. She wore that lovely face she sometimes does. Placid, calm, waiting gently, a submissive look, but full of something like… hope was it? And certainly love. And then it came to me. There was a tune I could play and here, with her watching me, it was exactly the right tune. The Signore and Jim might not like my choice but with only one chance in my lifetime I didn't care if they hated it. This was my moment, our moment.

I lifted her, she was light, so very light, and stiff, I could feel the stiffness in the case. I tucked her under my chin. A perfect fit, as though made for me. I looked along the strings and noticed how deeply domed the belly was. That was interesting, and of course it was clear the S cuts were not symmetrical. I lifted the bow and touched it to the strings. I looked at Shizuku. She looked at me. And I played.

You know what tune I played don't you? Well, terrible tease that I am, I'm not going to tell you. I'm sure you can guess. I'll just give a couple of clues; it was a tune special to Shizuku and I and it wasn't a classical piece. Oh, and no, it wasn't _Country Roads_, that _would_ have been an insult to Stradivarius.

I don't think Signore Guarnieri or the Christie's men were very impressed. Given the once in a lifetime chance to play Stradivarius' The Hammer I should have played some beautiful appropriate classical piece, and not what I did play. But I don't care, it's my party and I'll cry if I want to. I loved it, and later that day Shizuku told me that it almost brought her to tears. And that remark of hers made it all worthwhile. I had had a Stradivarius violin in my hands, and made music come out of it. And I had watched my wife mouthing the words that went with the tune. Now I could die content.

-oOo-

Later that day we stood in the auction room and witnessed what might be the greatest spectacle ever to occur in a musical instrument auction. Bidding was frantic, very fast and in just over five minutes she was sold for the staggering price of 3,544,000 US Dollars. The auction room immediately broke into applause, and I was clapping with them. It was remarkable, the highest price ever paid for any musical instrument. Another auction I attended some years ago caused ambiguous feelings for me, but this day it felt right. The anonymous new owner is said to be a patron of the arts and will be loaning the instrument out so it can be heard in concerts. And that's as it should be. Violins, like fine dolls, are not made to sit in glass cases in museums, but are meant to be played with.

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13 February 2007

For author notes about Chapter 56, please see my forum (click on my pen name)


	58. Ch 57 Two Lives Ticking

**Chapter Fifty Seven – Two Lives Ticking**

_Shizuku – Cremona - March 2007_

The story could end there, but there are a few more small things to tell, only little things, not of especial importance but as I've dragged you this far it's probably best that I tell you, as you've been so good and kept by me all this way.

My heart began to heal that winter and spring of last year, I found that the things I had turned over and over in my mind concerning _those_ three days and the long drawn out lead in to them were all because deep down, I loved Seiji. It is a bad way to show one's love and if I had been able to see what was happening inside me I would have chosen other means. But I think also it was His plan that it should be that way, and while I do some days sit quietly and have regrets that I lay with another man, that isn't really a big thing is it? Considering what my husband and I have gained in return.

And the writing thing? Well, where can I start? The second children's book I submitted to Kasu was also published in the autumn of last year and again I asked Ume to illustrate it, our second and last co-operative project. "The Cat Returns" was an even bigger success, and my agent called me the day before yesterday to tell me an anime studio was interested in making a movie out of it. I'm not too sure about that, movie studios have this habit of ruining books don't they? But we'll see.

Do you remember that odd night in Milan? In that taxi? And the model seaplane we saw in the shop near Anna-Marie's art shop? Well a book grew out of that too, a lovely story about a man who was good but who was turned bad by war and who after the war led a lonely life only to be redeemed, in the end, by a woman's love. _Porco Rosso_ is the title and I got that name from an Italian clock maker. That magical beautiful clock in grandpa's shop, the one with the dwarf prince, and the name of the maker stayed with me, it was such a funny sounding name. I offered this to Kazu but he said it wasn't children's book material. But he was kind enough to suggest another publisher and that company, knowing me from my two previous books, have agreed to publish my first novel.

And that is the way the publishing business goes, like acting or singing, it's almost impossible to get started, to get noticed, and countless people never do. But once you are on the way, things snowball because your name becomes known. I suppose people see in you a fast buck and use your name to make money for themselves. I don't despise people for doing this, or blame them but I do feel a little pity for them. And I don't want the money, I always said that. Seiji and I went through a phase of thinking we didn't then realizing we did, because we had to, but now the worst of the crisis is over we don't want to be rich, ugly rich. I hate that. All I want is enough so that either of us doesn't ever get to the point where we feel we have to give up something of principle, or get some job that will take us away from each other.

Hayao has stayed in touch. He wants me to write more political articles and that whole thing appeals to me. That glimpse I had back along the other channel of the river I didn't take - it intrigues me and I think there may be a way I can do some good. If I keep writing articles highlighting the faults in the Japanese education system and recommending changes, somebody, somewhere who has the ability to put those changes into practice may read them. It only needs one seed of change to be sown and a difference can be made. So I have chosen to make a real effort in that direction. I sit sometimes and think of people like Nao and know that we should be sending kids out into the world who are better equiped to deal with it and make a difference.

And by working as individuals, me with my mind and Seiji with his hands, we can avoid any entanglements with corrupt people, companies and governments, and for me that's a very important thing. Apart from having him, apart from opening my eyes each morning and the first thing I see is that beautiful untidy hair, if there is just one other thing of real importance to me, it's that we are both free of that.

-oOo-

One Sunday last November we were sat in the garden, in the shade of the trees. Making the most of that year's dying warmth. I had my laptop with me but wasn't doing much, it was too nice a day. Seiji was flicking through a magazine. I could tell by his movements that his mind wasn't on it. Flick, flick, flicky, went the pages, scurrying through his fingers, under his thumb. I glanced at him. He glanced back.

"What are you thinking?"  
"Options," He replied, "choices. What comes next."  
"After…?"  
"My apprenticeship. I'll complete the ten years in 2009. What comes after that?"  
"What would you like to do?"  
"Make violins of course."  
"Good. I'd like that. I'd like to be a violin maker's wife, if that's all right with you?"  
"Sounds good, yes I think that's an arrangement we could get to work. The question is…"  
"Hm?"  
"Where?"  
"What?"  
"Where will this violin maker's wife live?"  
"Here I assume. I love it here."  
"Yes, I do too. But Cremona isn't the only place we can be. The thing is, there are lots of violin makers in Cremona and while I don't worry about being in a competing market, it is a fairly safe option. I'm becoming known in Italy. I think I could see a situation in a few years time when that's no longer a challenge."  
"Well that's very arrogant of you, mister violin maker."  
"Is it? Is it arrogant to want to work somewhere where life is a challenge?"  
"Well not when you put it that way. You came here, and that was hardly easy."  
"Hm."  
"Where were you thinking of?"  
"Japan."  
"Really?"  
"Yes. That was the original plan after all. To stay here ten years then go home. Except you turned up and messed my plans up, so now 'home' is here."  
"Sorry. All my fault."  
"Yes. Just don't do it again." He chided me with a wagging finger, like a parent telling off a naughty child.  
"Why Japan?"  
"It was all I knew at the time. But thinking about it more there are no violin makers of real quality in Japan, not making them in the traditional way, anyway, or experimenting in the traditional style."  
"Meaning?"  
"More of a challenge. All the prestigious orchestras and soloists automatically go to Italian artisans to buy violins. If I were to set up shop in Japan I'd have the challenge of breaking into that market all over again."  
"Sounds risky."  
"Yes. But exciting."  
"Hm, we've had a fair bit of excitement here though haven't we?"  
"True, but has it been fun? Have you enjoyed it?"

I smiled a wide beaming grin. I had, there was no denying it, despite the ups and downs, the heartache and the fears, it had been damn good fun.

"I have Seiji. Very much. And we've learned a lot. I think we could weather another challenge."  
"But there are all sorts of options open to us. I can sell digitally now, a website is a shop doorway in every city on the planet, so it's a given that I'll do that. So there isn't a strong need to be physically based near any market."  
"Hm, but you know, I like Tama. It really is home for me, despite the time we've had here."  
"It would mean living in the Earth Shop."  
"It would. But I'd like that. It would be a sort of poetic thing wouldn't it? That basement could be converted back to a workshop again."  
"We don't have to decide yet, there's three years yet before we come to that."  
"I enjoy talking about it though. And there are other things to consider as well."  
"What things?"  
"I went to see my doctor last week. I've known this since the beginning but she reminded me that it's not healthy, not safe for a woman to take the contraceptive pill for more than ten years, it can affect her fertility. And I've been on it now for eleven."  
"Ah. I can see where this might be heading."  
"I need to stop taking it."  
"Ah."  
"There's other forms of contraception of course, but while I have to make the decision I thought I'd run an idea past you."

His crooked smile came, it appeared slowly and rested on his face a while, caught his eyes. I almost stopped the conversation there, it was so pleasant to just sit and watch that smile.

"Well thank you so much for thinking of me."  
"You know I didn't mean it that way!"  
"Yes, I know. Just messing. So here we are talking… what? The B-word?"  
"Yes, the B-word. I'll be twenty-seven soon, and I would like children before I get much older."  
"Do you want a decision from me now?"  
"Not if you don't want to make one."  
"I have actually thought about this now, on and off."  
"Anything you want to tell me?" I smiled, trying to tease it from him.  
"Well, its quite practical now isn't it? With you not commuting, with you working from home."  
"True. There is that."  
"The thing is, it's mainly your call, your life would be most affected, in the first few months. Can you still write and be a mother?"  
"Absolutely! I'm totally happy with it. I'd be here at home just the same, but with a little person for company. And when the baby needs me, I just stop writing for a while, whether that's an hour or a week. I really can't think of another job where bringing up a family would be less of a change."  
"So, I mean, yes. Let's do it."  
"Wait a moment. We can't make this decision only on the basis of practicalities."  
"Did we just do that?"  
"Yes! All we said was having a baby wouldn't be an inconvenience! That's no way to decide whether or not we should create a new life."  
"Shizuku, that was so beautiful; '_we should create a new life.' _That's a really sweet thing to say. You ought to be a writer."  
"Don't joke, this is serious."

His crooked smile was back, a particularly devious version of it.

"Give me your hand," he said,

I lifted it and he took it and placed it on his chest.

"Unbutton my shirt."  
"Um, is this the right time for this?"  
"It's not what you think. Trust me. Just do as I say."

His smile had gone again, as quickly as it had come. His voice had changed completely. He was deadly serious now. I began to undo the buttons, one, two, three.

"That's enough, "he said, "now slip your hand in."

I did so, over his left side. His skin was warm, firm. I felt the muscle of his breast. My fingers found his nipple. It stiffened under my touch. Just doing this was erotic. I could feel my own body responding.

"Good. Now, what do you feel?"  
"Your skin. It's warm. Your nipple."

This was nice, I could lose myself quite happily in this situation.

"OK. And under the skin?"  
"Mmm, your muscle."

I moved my hand, caressing, squeezing.

"And under the muscle?"

I stopped moving my hand. What was under his muscles? His ribs. But I couldn't feel those, the muscle of his breast here was too firm. Had my hand been lower I would have been able to feel his ribs, but not this high up. So ribs wasn't it. I knew they were there but I couldn't feel them, and he'd been specific about what I could _feel_, not what was there. I closed my eyes and concentrated. What was his intention with this? Then I felt it. It was unmistakable. Once I focused on what it was, it was easy to feel it.

"Your heart."  
"Yes. Now look at me."

I looked up from his open shirt to his face.

"Look at my eyes. This is important."

I did so. His eyes weren't wide but partly closed, relaxed. He was at ease. Mm, this was so nice. I could sit here all day and look into his eyes.

"Keep feeling my heart. Yes? Focus on that."

I did so.

"Shizuku Amasawa, I love you very much. I am going to stay with you all my life. I would like you to bear my child. Please would you do that?"

Oh, my God. How beautiful he was. How could he say such a wonderful thing? Five minutes ago our conversation had been light hearted, even joking. Now suddenly his words came around my heart and held it tightly. So tightly it hurt. Suddenly I had tears in my eyes, welling up. I didn't know what to say, the moment was so perfect, his face so perfect. If I said anything it could never be as good as his words, and this perfect moment would end. But I had to respond. How?

There was only one way.

"Give me your hand."

He did so. I led it to the hem of my tee shirt, invited it under the cloth. He needed no other guidance. The warm fingers came up, moving up my stomach, to my ribs, and onto the curve of me, the place he loves to hold me when he sleeps.

"No, I want your touch on my skin. Undo my bra."

His fingers went to the catch between my breasts. With my free hand I helped him. It came undone and I felt the weight of me lie lower on my ribs. He moved his hand back. The excitement I'd felt earlier had passed and my mood had changed. No longer was this erotic and I was no longer aroused. This was now more than that. My nipple had softened again, gone back to sleep. His hand cupped me and gently stroked, then lightly squeezed. His hand there was familiar, comforting. I love his touch there, I feel protected.

"What do you feel?"

He could have given a light hearted reply, something sexy but inappropriate. But his mood matched mine, we were like two musicians who knew each other so well, playing, communicating.

"Your heart."  
"Yes."

It was indeed pounding. I wouldn't have been surprised if he could hear it. For a moment I was quiet. We stayed that way, holding each other, not moving, just feeling each other's lives ticking. I still held his gaze. I'd not broken it since he'd asked me to be the mother of his baby. I spoke. I chose my words carefully. I needed these words to be exactly right.

"Seiji Amasawa, you have been so kind to me, so understanding over so many things. I've done lots of things wrong, some things were very wrong. You have forgiven me so much. There is a lot I owe. I want to give you something. I want to bear your child. More than one child. Will you let me?"

He smiled. He nodded.

"Thank you, Shizuku. Yes, I would like that."

And now the tears came, I could never hold them in when he was as beautiful as this.

"Seiji, I love you."

I leaned forward. His hand left me and both his arms came around me and he held me. He hugged me tightly to him. I cried tears of joy, my heart was bursting. There was that day he had given me the engagement ring on the hilltop in Tama. There was the day he had married me in Tokyo. And today there was this, in Cremona, there was this moment. Only three times in my life have I been this happy. Over a space of months, or years, however long it may be, I wanted there to be a fourth time. A time when the crying would not be mine, but my baby's.

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12 - 13 February 2007

For author notes about Chapter 57, please see my forum (click on my pen name)


	59. Ch 58 The Attic Room

**Chapter Fifty Eight – The Attic Room**

Although they wanted to do this straight away, that evening, that very minute, she made him wait and made herself wait also. There was a boring reason for that: the contraceptive needed time to clear from her system. But the real reason was that for something as important as this she needed it to be exactly the right time. And also, as importantly, the right place. She knew where, there was only one place to do this.

She checked her calendar and found that the next weekend was a good time in her cycle. She telephoned that evening. Was the room free any time soon? Yes, he replied, his voice as full of good humour as ever, this weekend there were no guests there. Could she book it for the Saturday and Sunday nights? Absolutely, that was no problem. She asked him to put some chilled wine in the room, two glasses and please, if he would, some flowers. Yes, no problem _She-zoo-koo_, anything for her. Was it a special occasion? He asked. Yes, she replied, it was. She didn't elaborate and Tony was too polite to ask.

So she made them both wait a whole week, she insisted he not even touch her and also made him promise not to touch himself. At the end of the week she was screaming with anticipation, with her need, but she knew it was a wait worth enduring.

They talked about it most days, which just made it worse, and also in a way, better, keener.

"Just once is no good," he said,  
"Yes, so I understand."  
"We need to do it several times."  
"All day is best, lots and lots of times."  
"Yes, all of Saturday night and all Sunday."  
"Hm, as often as you can manage."  
"Why me? It might be you who can't manage. The one who can't stand the pace."

She smiled, God, she was ready now, she'd been ready all week, she'd actually been wet some days. The thought of it being her who couldn't go on, of her being bathed in sweat, moaning, aching and open and demanding he stop was a scenario that just made the waiting even worse. It made her feel so good she felt weak.

"Mmm, that would be nice. But we should do it as much as possible, so if I can't go on, if I'm too exhausted and crying for you to stop – well, you know what you must do."  
"My duty. As a husband."  
"Yes. Carry on without me. Ignore me if I tell you to stop. Even if I beg you to stop. Use me as long as you can."

Now he was excited, those two words _use me_, touched his core, a powerful arousing image involving an exhausted, sweat soaked Shizuku came to him.

"What should I wear? Shall I take something pretty and expensive?"

His response surprised her.

"No, there's no need for that. I just want you, just as the day you were born, I don't need anything else for you to make me feel the way I do."

She thought though, that there was something she should wear. It was still in the back of one her drawers. One day, when he was out working, she got it out and tried it on. She had kept it for the sake of good memories, and now she was glad she had. She'd grown since she was fifteen, the hem of the cotton jacket now no longer reached down to cover the important bits and when she buttoned it up, she found it was tight across her chest. She'd hardly noticed herself growing, but clearly she had. She stood in front of the bedroom mirror and turned up the collar. She liked that, it gave a certain style that appealed to her.

-oOo-

That Saturday afternoon they walked, holding hands, to the hotel. He led her down unfamiliar alleys and narrow crooked steps, a part of the old town she'd rarely visited, only once or twice. This was on the east side of the old city and as darkness came down and the shadows lengthened along the narrow streets it became a mysterious place, like a magical kingdom and he a prince leading her to a secret encounter. As they walked she gave his hand a squeeze, one of her special ones. She'd found that in recent years she had given them less and less. It was time for that to change, she would use these innocent contacts to remind him and to remind herself of what they needed. Contact. Communication. Touching. These were important things. Now she recognized this place, this alley, they were nearly there. He led her up the steps and Tony greeted them. Marco was no longer there, he had grown and gone to university and was now in Milan. So Seiji carried their bag up, he didn't mind, they'd not brought much. Tony asked them to make the most of their stay, because he would leave the hotel soon. He was getting old now and with Marco gone he'd been using a few younger people, temporary staff but these kids never stayed long and he found the chores too much for his aching back. So at the end of the year he was selling the Hotel Alfonso and going to retire, down south, where he'd been born. Naples, where his son lived. And he could spend time helping his son by picking the large plum tomatoes on his farm. And Signora Piscotti? Asked Shizuku, was she in Naples too? No, he'd replied, he didn't know where she was now, he'd not spoken to her in over twenty years. Shizuku was sad, it wasn't right that such a nice, gentle, happy man should have been alone. But Tony didn't mind. His son and grandchildren were the whole world to him.

"She-zoo-koo," he said, "children are everything. They are the you of the future. When you are old and sitting in your chair and all you want is some peace and quiet and your grandchildren run up to you and disturb your rest, don't be angry at them, for they are everything."  
"Thank you," Shizuku replied, "I'll remember that. Will you be open at Christmas?"  
"Oh, yes, I have a Christmas party every year. And this year will be my last, so I'll make it a good one. Why don't you come?"  
"Could we? We'd like to stay a day or two."  
"Good, I'd love to see you both again, your usual room?"  
"Yes, please. Seiji - why don't we invite Adamo and Lisbet?"  
"Sure," he replied, "I'll call them on Monday."

He led his wife by the hand. They went up the steep wooden stair, like a ships stair, that went up through the floor of the room. Seiji went to the shutters and opened them and the familiar view and smell and sounds of the evening city came in. It was cooler at this time of year but even so, he opened a bottle of wine and they leaned on the balcony railing and drank it, and talked about whatever came into their heads. Seiji mentioned salt water. She looked at him, puzzled. He said it was something he'd come across in a technical journal recently. A lot of work had been done on scientific testing of Stradivarius instruments in the last few years. It seemed the wood he'd used was imported into Italy and stored in Venice. There was little space in the canal city so the custom was to store the wood in the seawater, and this process which in fact started a kind of rotting caused some of the pores of the wood to close and gave it properties different to wood stored dry. And this affected the sound his violins made. So Seiji talked of his plans to get a brine tank installed at the workshop that winter and purchase timber for use in the future. It would need to be kept in the salt water for some time, a year probably so this was a long term experiment. He'd have to import actual sea water which would be expensive – tap water and processed salt was no good, he'd need live seawater. And that would need periodic refreshing. The other option was to make contact with a business such as a boatyard and make arrangements with them to store wood for him, which might be a more practical proposition. She looked at his face as he talked. She wasn't really listening to the words, just the sound of him, just the movements of his jaw and the expression in his eyes and the way his head turned. Her gaze rested on him gently and after a few minutes he felt it lying there.

"You're not listening are you?"  
"No. I'm not. But you keep talking, it's fine. I'm just enjoying the view."  
"Shizuku, there's something I need to tell you."

She stayed silent. Looking at his face was too nice to break the spell with words.

"I've been thinking a lot. About you."  
"Go on."  
"This last week. I've thought about… touching you. I've thought about touching parts of you. With my hands… and my mouth. Undressing you. Laying down with you."  
"Seiji, you're very sweet. But it's OK, there's no need to be nervous."

They both knew they were playing, joking, but it was fun to play sometimes.

"But, anyway, there is something I need to do. I need to get changed."  
"I thought you weren't going to bring anything to wear?"  
"Ah, wait and see."

She left him on the balcony and went to the little shower room, picking up her bag from the bed.

-oOo-

When she came back out the darkness of the evening had come, the sun had gone now and he had turned on the small lamp in the corner by the reading table. Next to it was that terrible shabby old armchair that Tony really should have thrown out years ago. She moved to the centre of the room and saw him there, leaning on the balcony rail. She called out his name and he turned and came to her. He saw what she was wearing and smiled.

"Seiji,"

Her voice was no more than a whisper, she realised she was nervous,

"Seiji, I'm scared. What do we do now?"

He placed his hands on her shoulders.

"What would you like?"

Her voice fainter now, so faint she only mouthed the words,

"Kiss me."

He touched his mouth to hers, gently, everything needed to be gentle. And slow. At first, anyway. Later that would change. Later he wanted to hear her moan, make her lose control. He wanted to see her close her eyes and make a big O with her mouth and scream. He wanted to make her cry out and yell bad words. He loved it when she screamed and when she thrashed about in pleasure. She was such a noisy girl. But for now he wanted to be gentle with her.

"You look beautiful. May I…?"  
"Hm?"  
"I want to undress you."

By way of answer she took his hand, kissed it and placed it on her throat.

"There are six buttons."

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Saint Valentines Day 2007

For author notes about Chapter 58, please see my forum (click on my pen name)


	60. Epilogue : The Other Side of the World

**Epilogue – The Other Side of The World**

Shizuku loved this time of day, this time of year. And especially this view, looking down on the buildings, the streets, the railway line. In the school yards and gardens the cherry trees burgeoned with blossom, thick and creamy like candy floss. The cherry blossom was especially pretty this year. Or perhaps that was her imagination. She'd not seen it for eight years, perhaps it always seemed this beautiful if you went away and didn't see it for so long. She liked to be here as the sun began to go down. It hadn't quite set but was near the horizon and the sides of the hills, the buildings and the air itself were painted with a golden light. She knew the scientific explanation behind it, something very boring to do with the suns rays cutting obliquely through the earths lowest layers of atmosphere where all the tiny dirt particles were and the light became diffused. But she didn't care about that, she just loved the colour the world was painted. And the sense of peace it brought with it. Late afternoon was such a magical time, a restful time, a time that promised the evening ahead when people could relax or have fun. It was her favourite time of day. It reminded her of him coming home when she could talk with him and feed him and hold him.

She liked to lean on the wooden rail here and watch the day ending but recently leaning had become more uncomfortable and it hurt her back. So now she stood upright and rested her right shoulder against one of the large upright timbers that supported this balcony, and the one above it. She rested her left hand on the balcony railing and her right on her lower stomach, which she absently stroked from time to time. The sun was going down now and the sky began to attract her attention more than the painted landscape. The first tints of pink and salmon and lilac-grey were in the clouds. She settled against the wooden post, trying to get her extra weight comfortable. She watched the night coming.

Then it happened. She hardly noticed it at first, she thought it was just a twitch of a muscle. But then it came again, and a third time. There was no mistaking it now. She touched the place. It happened again.

"Seiji! Seiji! Come here. Quick!"

She heard his footsteps chatter down the stairs. He came out of the old workshop door onto the lower balcony. He'd been painting the walls of the main room, the old shop room, and was wearing his shirt sleeves rolled up, an old pair of jeans and his heavy leather work apron.

"What?"  
"Come here, quick."  
"What is it? What's wrong?"  
"Nothing's wrong. I don't think. But here, give me your hand."

She took his hand in hers and placed it on her, low down.

"There, no, a little to my left. Lower. There."  
"What? What is it?"  
"Just wait. Wait a moment."

He looked at her face, then down at his palm pressed against the lower curve of her belly, on one side. He waited, a questioning look on his face. She placed her hand over his.

"What?"  
"Sshh, just wait."

And then it came again, a small knock or kick, a tiny thing, almost too faint to be felt. It happened again.

"Did you feel that?"  
"Yes," he replied, "yes, I feel it. Oh, wow... is that?"  
"Yes, its him."  
"Or her."  
"Or her. Yes, it could be her."

Seiji knelt down. He put his hands to the hem of her dress and lifted the material. She helped him by gathering the cloth up and raising it. Her naked stomach was exposed, it had grown big in the last few weeks, very big. She was huge now and getting around had become uncomfortable. It wouldn't be too long. Seiji put both his hands back on the warm honey coloured ball of her enormous belly. He felt the movement again. He put his face there, just resting his cheek against the flesh and felt his child kick out at him, at the world.

He put his lips to the place and kissed the skin.

"Hello," he said, "good strong limbs you've got there. Don't play too rough. If you're going to be a violin maker, you need a delicate touch."

Shizuku's voice came from above him,

"I expect he's trying to reach behind his head and smooth that damn hair down."

Seiji looked up at his wife. He stood and held her.

"Happy?" he asked  
"That's a stupid question," she replied, "as long as I have you, of course I am."

_- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
_

We'll do it all  
Everything  
On our own

We don't need  
Anything  
Or anyone

If I lay here  
If I just lay here  
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

I don't quite know  
How to say  
How I feel

Those three words  
Are said too much  
They're not enough

If I lay here  
If I just lay here  
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Forget what we're told  
Before we get too old  
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

Let's waste time  
Chasing cars  
Around our heads

I need your grace  
To remind me  
To find my own

If I lay here  
If I just lay here  
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Forget what we're told  
Before we get too old  
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

All that I am  
All that I ever was  
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see

I don't know where  
Confused about how as well  
Just know that these things will never change for us at all

If I lay here  
If I just lay here  
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

(Snow Patrol - Chasing Cars)

_The End  
12 December 2006 – 14 February 2007  
MS-C_

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Saint Valentines Day, 2007

For author notes about the Epilogue, please see my forum (click on my pen name)


End file.
